


Pop Cult

by Gisette (Calesvol)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Celebrities, Conspiracy Theories, Family Drama, Gender Dysphoria, Hollywood, Mental Health Issues, Modern Era, Modern Royalty, Multi, Political Intrigue, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Gisette
Summary: Hollywood is the pinnacle of fame so many want to achieve. Even when Danny Grey wants nothing to do with it. But when she's sucked into its world, at the side of one of its biggest celebrities and a woman out of the stuff of conspiracy theories, they find its dark underbelly and contend with so much more than they could've ever thought possible.





	1. Chapter 1

( Warnings: T, none)

* * *

 It was today of all days that I had be dragged from doing what I loved.

Being a loop artist in the music industry is like dragging your studio from place to place. You pile on the speakers, the synthesizers, loop pedals, whatever instruments you’re using, the microphone—it’s a lot, and takes some mental dexterity to play Tetris to line them all up. That, or it’s more like Jenga.  Take your pick.

Either way, when your aunt comes rushing towards you after you’ve finished your first set of busking in a public park with her hijab nearly flying off in her excited sprint, you’ve got to pray that you can play Tetris with your equipment and time and somehow shove it in the two-door Porsche she parked near you.

“ _Habibti_ , get in! We have to hurry!” she urged once the last of my equipment had been somehow stowed away, confusion present aplenty on my expression. Ducking into the convertible, I clicked the seatbelt on with a bemused expression.

“Mind telling me what this is all about?” Once she was able to pull into traffic, Safiya seemed to have finally cooled down. At least as far as her excitability went. Truth be told, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. Even though my aunt looked more excited than apprehensive, her excitement sometimes ended badly for me. Call it in a difference in character.

“We’re going to a concert, Danny,” she explained, smoothly transitioning to a turn. At least these flashy sports cars weren’t too jarring.

“You know, I was performing. Kinda. Couldn’t it have waited?” Was it some fancy venue, like an orchestra concert? My fingers plucked idly at one of the holes in my skinny jeans, frowning thoughtfully. Yeah, I’d be screwed if it was. But, the oversized t-shirt I wore over it was pretty plain otherwise. Unless it wasn’t. Why now? It just…seemed so out of the blue. Safiya smiled mischievously and elbowed me gently.

When it seemed safe to maneuver the car with one hand, she fished for a strand of black hair from beneath her hijab and held it across her upper lip. “ _Ah, my child, how you shame me! Truly, dressed like this. We cannot see the queen like this!”_ Safiya intoned with a feigned masculine inflection, unable to hold back a catty grin. I burst out laughing, but how could it be helped? My aunt was hilarious when she wanted to be.

“Hang on, I can improve this,” I said matter-of-factly, grinning cockily. I mussed my hair through short, platinum locks and made it stick out in chaotic tufts, roots visible. More than usual, at least. Flashing a duck-face at my aunt as she stuffed that bit of hair back, we both dissolved into a fit of giggling. “Okay, but—seriously. You’re…not really the concert type. What’s the 411, daddy-o?”

Safiya only shrugged, continuing to drive as LA’s scenery breezed past. “Let’s say we’ve got VIP access to a concert. And that it concerns you greatly, make no mistake, Danny. Aha, we’re here!”

This was along the Sunset Strip, alright. As we pulled up to the swanky, black marble entrance denoted with a flashy marquee did a suited valet open our doors and guided us out, feeling myself burn under the undivided attention. Not something I was used to, let’s say. I was starting to regret not pressing my aunt for details, but she probably hadn’t felt the need to. She always dressed to the nines, usually in modest pantsuits to pair with her trove of designer head scarves. The face of a gorgeous Arab Muslimah who had life by the horns. Me, on the other hand…

Catching sight of my reflection in the smooth black marble was it apparent that what I wore was completely out of place for a venue this classy, and the judgmental eyes the valets gave showed it. To my aunt they ate out of her hand. Okay, keep it cool. When you don’t have the wardrobe, manners and the like made up for it for miles, right? Flattening my choppy pixie cut with my hand, it did something. Ugh, whatever. Safiya’s fault for being so mysterious.

“Danny, over here,” she hissed as she took me by the arm, wobbling a bit on her heels. Shorter than me, it looked comical, what with me being above-average in the height department. My heart hammered in my throat as I looked like a deer in the headlights on stilts while Safiya smiled charmingly, making up for my two left feet.

Inside, it was red, gold, and more marble. Plush carpeted floors made my gait weird, but Safiya just dragged me down a corridor where I could feel a pulse of music. Wait, this is where the concert was? It certainly didn’t feel like the place for something less sedated than a piano recital. “Welcome to St. James Ballroom, Danny,” Safiya beamed a few halls and an upwards incline later as we found ourselves in a sudden, cavernous space. Except, it wasn’t before the stage. By the black curtains that spanned in some partitions and the light-bleached performers on the stage proper, this was the left exit.

You heard of St. James Ballroom, but you never really got in. My aunt pushed me forth for a better look, and while I almost tripped over my scuffed Converse, what was going on was far more dazzling.

Samuel Williams was probably the most popular African-American pop star now or would ever be again. Transfixed, I watched him weave fluidly between dancers clad in garish, scintillating animal costumes like something out of Where the Wild Things Are. Dressed like a prince, crown glittering atop his head, he was a vision of royal purple belting out his ballads with a voice range that was the envy of men and women alike. Hell, probably the envy of both in the looks department, too. Androgyny at its finest, maybe its most attractive, too.

At an instrumental, one of the performers was mock-shot through the heart with an arrow, prone on the ground while Samuel stopped and gazed sadly upon it. With eyes so expressive, everyone wondered why he didn’t act, too. The lights dimmed and a single limelight shone on the pair, a soulful pitch of a verse sung from Samuel’s lips as he sung his lamentation and cradled the beast in his arms. All before the lights flared and I swore I had to blink a few times to adjust and what appeared to be a forest fire scene ensued, driving all the actors past me in a stampede, probably as bewildered by me as I was of them.

The same soft refrain became a passionate rallying song as Samuel engaged in a mock battle with another dressed as a hunter, their blades locked together. However, Samuel suddenly choked on a note and I looked uncertainly around. A hush fell on the crowd and the hunter shouted for the music to stop as the prolific singer collapsed to his feet, sweat beading on his dusky brown brow. Wait…was that supposed to have happened? The hunter again broached to ask if Samuel was okay, even as the singer clutched his throat and gaped silently, shaking his head no. Oh, shit. Okay, I got what was going on.

Before I could think of stopping myself, I walked out on stage. With my messy hair and downgraded standard of clothing, people probably would’ve mistook me for a stagehand. Except, they knew who I was. The long of the short of it was a story that involved Youtube, my own proclivities as a loop artist, and years of boredom turning a hobby into something. Something big. You get the idea.

I place my hand on his trembling back, sinking down to my haunches. It was weird being around bigger celebrities, but I’d met my fair share. Okay, maybe he was more of in a category of his own, but still. “You alright?” I inquired softly, using the tone of voice you’d use to coax someone skittish to you. Being up close and personal was a lot different than being afar or staring at them through a screen. Samuel blearily lifted his head, dark brown eyes watery as a he dared a glance at me. Through the wispy, curly shade of his bangs—of what wasn’t drawn back in a loose tie—did he look, like a woodland being peering through the boughs of a willow tree. Something cheesy like that.

Cheesy, but how else did you describe being sucked into a vortex?

He was nonverbal, and there was nothing talking could do. Except look like a total idiot in front of thousands of people. Without another word, I hefted him up enough to get him standing, draped his arm over my shoulders and got him standing to hobble away, which is much easier said than done, I might add. Gangly as a colt, but not an impossible feat. Murmurs arose among the crowd, then some applause that I paid no mind to.

Making it stage left, a first responder team wasted no effort in carefully maneuvering Samuel upon a stretcher, taking no chances as they pulled him away from me. He was heavier than he looked, but who thought years of moving heavy equipment around would pay off so well?

My aunt came to my flank as we watched the despondent star be carted away, knowing he was in better hands. “The hell was all that?” I asked myself aloud blankly, flinching when Safiya touched my arm. “Auntie?”

“…This wasn’t how I imagined things would go, but—come, Danny. There’s somewhere else we have to go.”

Yeah, screw that. Sorry if I cared more about how he was doing, but—whatever.

* * *

We drove in silence from the Ballroom, mulling over what had just happened. From what I could tell, it wasn’t supposed to have happened. Safiya told me, simply, that after that song there was supposed to have been a fifteen minute intermission, and that we were supposed to have met. I wasn’t sure why, but I assumed it had something to do with these mysterious circumstances. My aunt wasn’t perturbed in the least, though. She was always like that, being a worrywart towards even complete strangers. I still remember when she almost got hit by a car when she ran into busy traffic to rescue a kitten she saw stranded at an intersection. She was able to, and we got it to a vet, and she never had thought twice.

It’s part of the reason why we get along so well, even if mom was gone.

So, I trusted her. With my life, when it came down to it.

Within moments did the looming edifice of a towering skyscraper come into view, its glassy veneer reflecting a faultlessly blue sky. Hell, it could’ve blended in perfectly if the conditions were just right, the sun high on its exterior; noon, if its position was anything to go by. As Safiya steered the Porsche towards the gaping entrance of a parking garage situated a level below the skyscraper, I turned when she said, “ _Habibti_ , I think he’ll be okay. For a man in his forties, Mr. Williams is at the top of his game. You don’t have to worry.” She smiled soothingly at me, patting my shoulder. She always did that when she was comforting me.

I smiled back. She always knew what to say without me having to specify.

“So, uh, what is this place?” At the gatekeeper, she took out her smartphone for it to scan a QR code. By the looks of it, they didn’t admit anyone from the general public. It looked more exclusive than that by a longshot. Which wasn’t really surprising. This was LA, after all. The heart of the entertainment industry beat here.

Though, that’s partially why it also put me on edge. As an indie artist who’d voluntarily hitched themselves to a tiny post, corporations like these were the vampires of the industry. _Industry_. It had such an ugly sound I wanted to spit it out like gristle. Roll it around in your mouth a few times and something rusty would poke out and stick you.

As she found a parking spot, reserved for VIP guests, this caused my brows to bounce. As Safiya fussed over her appearance, primping her hijab like it was hair, discreetly did I pull out my own phone and turned on the location in a GPS app. _Lowtown Records_. Wait, Lowtown? Like, _the_ Lowtown? The one that had singlehandedly spearheaded the industry for decades?

It was like a fire under my ass, I wanted to leave so bad. What did meeting the world’s most famous pop star and his record label have in common? Nothing good, my anxiety-riddled mind sniped. And I had every reason to believe it.

Safiya seemed oblivious to any discomfiture as she poked my shoulder, making it look like I was browsing through unread e-mails. “Huh? Oh, don’t worry, I’m still here, Auntie.” I cracked an unconvincing smile. Still, she smiled back and we exited the car in tandem.

The interior was nothing like the company’s humble beginnings. And before you ask, it was 3 am and documentaries look extremely appealing to me at that time. And there was one for Lowtown, so shut it. Anyways, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie. Blinding white, each of its towering levels denoted by a jutting gallery. Hell, I even recognized some familiar faces, and I was recognized back.

Sometimes, I liked it better when I was the most famous hermit of a muscian. Maybe I should’ve gotten into wearing some helmet like Daft Punk. That way no one would’ve known who I was, but it was too late now. People did and I could feel my skin crawl as I pretended not to hear them. Safiya gave me a confused look, but I ignored that, too.

Still, as wooden as I was feeling with the more unsolicited recognition we got, the more relief I felt when we stepped into an elevator and went to the 20th floor where it was abandoned, save for the whitewashed, lone corridor that likely fed into some glitzy den of a fat cat producer.

 _Carl San James_ , read the office placard. Yup, I was right. Smite me now, God.

A desk outside the office was occupied by a secretary in a white blouse and pencil skirt, looking at us expectantly and lighting up when she recognized us. “Ah, Miss Osman! And this must be Danny Grey. Nice to finally meet you in person,” she began conversationally, rising from her desk with a sheaf of papers in hand.

Safiya rose to the occasion while I hung awkwardly back. “So nice to meet you!” Safiya gushed as she eagerly took the papers, her enthusiasm boundless. “Is Mr. San James in? He was expecting us.”

The brunette brightened. “Oh, yes. One moment. He’s been expecting you both all day. Quite eager, I might add.” _Great_. This is exactly what I didn’t want to have happen.

Long story short? I love making music. Ever since I was fifteen, when I still lived in Rio de Janeiro with my aunt here, she wanted to capitalize on it, and I reluctantly agreed. My love of composing, remixing, covering and making original music turned into a Youtube channel I never saw the light of and didn’t want to. That we agreed on. So, she ran it, got friends to film me making covers and originals, the whole deal. I never saw it, but lots of people did. Millions. I never saw the statistics, but it was enough that I got signed to a tiny Brazilian indie label at about seventeen.

Maybe that would be unthinkable to most people. Who doesn’t want to be famous? Me. That’s who. I just want to make music, for crissakes. Hell, I never even toured. I do busking unexpectedly, whenever the mood strikes, and yeah a lot of people recognize me and it draws crowds, but I never stick around. I don’t like to. That many people gets stifling, like you’re choking. It’s not a pretty picture.  

No time was wasted after the secretary paged us through, an enthused response bellowing for her to let us in. Shit. This is not what I had in mind, if it what I think it is. And if it is, well—pray for me, I guess.

We were ushered into San James’ office without much more of a preamble, Safiya eagerly seating herself while I just stood back dumbly, pushed through comically when the door shut behind me. It felt like being sent to the principal’s office as I numbly and mechanically navigated my way into one of the sleek metal chairs, visibly uncomfortable. My aunt looked like a kid on Christmas, so she was fine, I guess.

Carl San James looked to be in his fifties, looking blubbery in the Armani suit he wore, pale and blond and he was smiling like a smug tomcat. I glanced sidelong at my aunt, waiting for her to break the silence before he stopped her.

“Danny Grey, it’s an honor to finally meet you. You’ve caused quite a commotion on the scene, you know. It’s almost impossible to get into contact with you, I’m told. But it seems your agent and I finally cracked the code.”

It was weird being called by my stage name. It was literally just my nickname and the color of my eyes. Unoriginal, but to an extent that no one tried to riddle out my real name. Which came as a benefit to us.

Unperturbed by my silence, he continued, “You’ve already released five albums—impressive, for one so young.” Young? I’m 25. That’s not exactly that young. “Oh no, a sixth is due to drop next week. My mistake. My opinion stands.”

Safiya patted my arm encouragingly. “Danny has worked very hard on that album, but as I understand, it’s the last one being released with her Muse label, correct?” she interjected politely, my eyes glued to my shoes and making an engrossed study of them.

“Correct,” Carl affirmed, fanning papers on his desk that were no doubt stats on me. It felt like I was at a parent-teacher conference. Any kid’s worst nightmare. “With the recent acquisition of Muse and its artists as a result, being absorbed into Lowtown means we’ll be placing them into our own indie label—but seeing as it’s not to go live, per say, until next month, all albums released before will keep it. Defunct as it now is. Danny, however, is a bit of a special case.”

When I felt his soulless blue gaze gore into mine, I reciprocated his gaze out of sheer instinct. Like a kid called into the principal’s office over the PA. That same stock-still mute horror.

“You, Miss Grey, are currently the most popular indie artist on Youtube. As I’ve been told, Miss Osman has been dealing with all of your ancillary business and communications online that you’ve voluntarily had no part in. Personally, I’m just wondering as to why. You’re quite well-loved, if described as anti-social.”

I couldn’t muster an answer. Instead, I just dropped my gaze, unable to find my voice.

Safiya smiled apologetically and caught the proverbial ball. “When we first made the deal, back when we lived in Rio, it was…ten years ago, now? Yes. It didn’t start as anything serious. Just something I filmed on my phone, but it exploded virtually overnight. So, I made more videos. Danny agreed on an alias, and gave me her consent to maintain a channel, and that eventually became putting her songs on iTunes, arranging collaborations with other artists she approved of. I did that and PR.” Carl nodded, but gazed at Safiya expectantly. She still hadn’t answered his question.

“She’s…had troubles I don’t think she’s comfortable bringing up here, Mr. San James. Succinctly put, Danny has trouble with being around others, sometimes communicating. She’s fine around immediate family, but otherwise, I’m afraid she’s a bit of the odd one out in situations like this.” No kidding. Getting me to talk was difficult when the effort tasted like battery acid washing down your throat every time you opened your mouth to speak. “She is comfortable with busking, however. Though, we’ve never done a formal meet and greet, or tours. Not yet, at least.”

It always did bum her out when big wig invites were sent to Danny Grey’s inbox that were sent back with me declining to come. But, she sometimes did. It was part of the reason why we moved to LA a few years ago. Because the elite scene was in here, or NYC. So, she traveled while I just hid behind a part-time job as a stocker for Walmart. Unglamorous, sure, but at least it kept people out of my hair. It was the last place they’d ever think of looking.

“Hm,” was all Carl responded with, folding his hands together thoughtfully. “I see my idea of a sort of…apprenticeship was more well-founded than I thought. If not for the reasons I initially conceived.” I glanced towards him, suspiciously, but damnably curious.

“You met the prospective mentor, only, it didn’t go exactly as planned. Nothing seems to be, today.” Wait, at the Ballroom? Apprenticeship? As if he was reading my thoughts, he explained frankly, “Miss Grey, I’ll be plain: the commercial music industry is floundering. Much like the American mall, the indie, online music circuit—that used to be a harmless contender—is proving to be a greater threat as the years ago on. Just as Netflix did to Blockbuster, Hollywood is struggling to compete with the likes of Youtube celebrities. Young people unfettered to a contract who do what we do, maybe even better, I’ll accede. But just as Lowtown set a new industry standard, I intend to evolve with it. Not resist as the competition has. And that evolution lays in you.”

Safiya beamed when he concluded, and I knew she was chomping on the bit to accept. “Danny, that’s why I took you to meet Mr. Williams. He’s going to be your mentor, of sorts. Show you around, show you the ropes. All that. Even if…it didn’t go exactly as planned, I think you made a good first impression.” Oh, the being their personal superwoman part? Yeah. Goodie.

While they seemed pleased with themselves, I only felt my insides turning. And I swore if I looked up, I’d be able to see nooses descending from the ceiling to choke the life out of me. My hackles raised, hands becoming clammy, I felt a chill on my skin like some sick flush. Like I had the fever. Without even thinking, I rose from my seat and was out like a shot from the room like the devil was at my heels, not even bothering to look back as I mashed the button to summon the elevator and almost sagged when it finally came. Even though I heard Safiya call after me, I ignored it as I stepped it and pressed a button to ground level, slumping against a wall as it made its descent.

Thank God. I needed to escape whatever nightmare this was turning into.

* * *

I don’t know how long I was wandering for, and I didn’t want to. All I did was disappear into the crowd and walk as far from Lowtown’s building as I could. Until the buildings that congealed together like a glass wall gave way to homey and artsy little hamlets, feeling more at home. The sunset was due to begin, and from there it looked beautiful. Pastel clouds suspended like cotton candy, the sky a warm gradient of gold and darkening blue. I loved sunsets.

“Whoa, excuse me,” I apologized automatically after bumping into something, dumbly realizing it was just a telephone pole. Smooth. A passerby saw and laughed, but I just trained my eyes on the ground again and pocketed my hands in my leather jacket, having grabbed it before we’d left hours ago. Today had been mortifying enough.

Distantly, I stopped when I heard my stomach growling loudly, glancing down. Oh. Right. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it must’ve been encroaching to at least eight. Shit. That made sense.

Funnily enough, a comforting sight came within view: Desert Nights, my favorite hookah bar and café. It was where my aunt and I loved going because it reminded us so much of home, even if I’d personally never been there before. It was the thought that counted, right? Plus, like a lot of joints in LA, they had completely private backrooms for celebs and other important people. Places not even the paparazzi could find.

Smiling, I knew where I was spending my evening.

Finding the entrance behind it, in a tree-lined back alley, I was recognized and allowed entrance. The owners were so damn nice, like family. They were Palestinian, and while the dialect of Arabic spoken was a little different from my Algerian upbringing, it was nice speaking in a language we both knew but few could intrude in on. It was like talking on a two-way radio you did as kids.

Up the back stairs, in a cozy upper floor room like a library, lined with books and some tables with elaborate but graceful hookahs on them, it felt like stepping into your home after being away forever. Sure, I loved LA because it reminded me of Rio, but a place that harkened to the motherland wasn’t too shabby, either.

Slumping in one of the overstuffed beanbag chairs, boy did I sit sloppily. Manspreading and everything. Setting up the hookah was easy, and the second the flavored tobacco hit me, it was like flying and sinking down cozily down on cloud nine. That was the nice thing about high-grade tobacco. It didn’t taste like a shitty cigarette, but still had the same calming effect. I’d argue it’s better like this, but yeah. A few puffs later and I was more content than a cat that caught the canary.

“Oh, shoot, was I bothering you?”

Cracking a single eye open, mouthpiece hanging roguishly from my lips, I gave the speaker the courtesy of a single eye. Their voice was too gentle to be really interrupting, but that was public knowledge. Samuel Williams was fierce on stage, but a shrinking violet off. Not unusual. Hell, even his appearance wasn’t all that intimidating. Jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, and his curly cascades framing his face gently. Definitely not an intimidating appearance.

“Slammy?” I guessed with a comical squint, exhaling a breath of smoke. I shrugged oddly. I was a weirdo when I was a little too relaxed. “Mmmm, _naaaah_. You’re good.” Wow, way to leave a grand second impression.

He giggled at my exaggerated and admittedly drunken swagger, but it was for this reason that I didn’t have many friends. I turned into a damn clown sometimes. “You seem pretty relaxed,” he quipped, followed by a bubbly chuckle. Cute. How the hell did a thirty-five year old year old pull off adorable, again?

I opened my hands grandly before slinging my arms over the back of the beanbag…chair… _thing_. It was comfy, so who cared what it was called? “Yeah, but fucking starved. You doin’ alright? You were kinda out of it earlier, bud.” I raised a finger, remembering myself. Removing an arm, I made some room. “Sorry, dude. It’s been a weird day.”

Wordlessly, he took a seat next to me. Huh, he even smelled good. Like, not manly man’s cologne good, but—clean. It was…nice. Nice when you’d spent some days in Walmart with teens fresh out of high school and reeking to high heaven of AXE.

Samuel appeared pensive, his eyes not quite meeting mine. Like he didn’t really know what to do with himself. “…Thank you, for earlier. I didn’t really expect to find you here, but I did want to show my gratitude.” He smiled, meeting my eyes. Shit. “Oh, don’t worry, by the way! I wasn’t sent out to look for you or anything. A friend of mine lives in the area, and I was seeing him. No biggie, just some natural, holistic stuff.” Oh, sweet tapdancing Christ, at least that card was off the table. He rubbed the back of his neck. “So, I… Since we’re both here, if you haven’t eaten yet, I could…pay for it, if you wanted.”

Closing my legs, feeling more lucid and aware of my own ridiculousness, I sat up and cleared my throat awkwardly. “I…yeah, I actually haven’t ordered anything yet,” I conceded, flicking a tuft of platinum out of my eyes. Though, this meant I’d have a captive audience, wouldn’t I? Straightening all the way up, I took him by the shoulder. “You know, if you’re stuck with me on my home turf, you’re gonna have the best damn Mediterranean food from a bonafide expert.” I puffed proudly. It wasn’t a lie. I was born and raised in Greece, after all. How much more Mediterranean could you get?

Most people in my position would probably would’ve lost their composure by now. Maybe mobbed each other just to get an autograph. Call it being too chill, but there was some rhyme and reason behind it. Before I was a homegrown internet celebrity, I had a background that saw me meeting celebrities when I was still in diapers. …Yeah, long story. Sam didn’t seem too bothered by it, smiling shyly with his head inclined down.

“You really mean it, huh?” Lucky it was just us, or it’d be hard to hear him.

I drew back, gasping exaggeratingly, scandalized. “Hey, would this face lie to you?” I prodded, posing like an Instagram model. This caused him to bark a laugh, probably from the hilarity of it all. I grinned. “Ha, knew it! Come on, bro, take it from my Algerian mom. Or my Greek dad. Whichever works. Our food is meant to be eaten with other people, so I’d say I’m doing you a favor, mister.”

“Alright, Danny, if you insist,” he conceded, still smiling. At this rate, our faces would be sore as hell. Not that it was a bad reason for them to be.

Eventually, we settled on some _Fuls Mudammas_. A fava bean paste with cumin, olive oil, garlic, and onion. Seriously, the best thing this side of the Pacific. With pita bread to do all the dipping with, naturally.

“See, what did I tell you? There’s more to this place than just its hookah,” I said pointedly after taking a first bite. God, it tasted even better after being starved. Or was it from the good company? Glancing at said person, I snorted on a laugh when he piled enough of the Fuls Mudammas on some pita bread that it looked like a taco when he tepidly tried to roll it back into shape. “Enjoying yourself?”

Finding no real way of navigating it into his mouth, he decided to simply take a huge bite and stuff it in. Admirable, really. He was a pretty slim guy, almost exactly my height, so it’d do him good. “Goodness, this is good!” he exclaimed after swallowing it down. Sam looked like a kid at Christmas. Which was definitely a big improvement from before. Hell, he was even smoking a bit. So, bonus points there.

We chatted. About the things strangers were wont to. The weather, the recent game, some funny SNL skit that had us in stitches. Simple things. Ordinary things that didn’t hurt so much. By then, he’d finished his share and was encroaching on to mine. And I let him. From what he told me, Sam didn’t eat as much as he should’ve.

“Damn, that was good,” Sam sighed after he’d finished, slumping contentedly in his seat. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, looking distant but contemplative. “It’s funny. I can’t remember the last time I went outside like a normal person. Not being mobbed by the paparazzi or fans. I love ‘em, but sometimes it gets exhausting being your act and not yourself.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, and people you try to befriend are too dazzled by your rep, right? Like, it’s a wall they can’t get over.” I didn’t have as great a problem as him, because I wasn’t in the limelight. Because I didn’t want to be. You could look and judge my rejection of that sudden upgrade, because people didn’t get it. They didn’t understand how much I feared becoming a not-person. Just an idol robbed of personhood, singing someone else’s song, at the mercy of someone else’s composition. Wearing clothes they wanted me to, for an image they manufactured. Who the hell wanted that? I didn’t want stardom so dazzling that I couldn’t even go out in public without being mobbed.

Sam probably understood. He looked distant, deep brown eyes flicking to the hookah’s mouthpiece and putting it to his lips, inhaling deeply. “I’ll be honest, I can’t remember the last time anyone didn’t do something as a publicity stunt. When Mr. San James came to me with the offer, I liked your music, sure, but I didn’t think I’d get…well, a friend. Not someone wanting to use me like a stepping stone.” He smiled gratefully, a warm look in his eyes. I’ll admit, that gave me butterflies. “I’ve got lots of people in my life, sure. But they’re not friends. They’re here because they have to be, or they want something, but no one sticks around.”

I smiled wryly at him. “You’re placing a lot of eggs in one basket. For the chick who carried you off stage, no less.” When his head dipped with that same bashful smile, I felt a fluttery warmth in my chest. Must’ve been the tobacco doing its thing. But, he had a point. Not one worth making jokes over. “I…genuinely don’t want to get into it, but I don’t want or need stepping stones. I’m happy where I’m at. People like my music, and if it makes them happy, what is a contract with a bigwig corporate music company going to do to change that? Make it better? Yeah, I just… I don’t want that.”

I leaned back a little, feeling pretty damn good about myself. I could stick it to them. Re-negotiate this contract into a shape I wanted it to be. “Would you still do it? The me being under your wing, deal,” I asked suddenly, tilting my head towards him.

“I won’t lie, if you’d have just been some preppy kid wanting a get rich or famous quick scheme, I’d have flat out said no. You seem too genuine for that. You stick to your guns, and…you treat me like a person. I appreciate that a lot, Danny. So, I will if you still want in.”

Hatching up my own scheme for happiness, it dawned on me: I didn’t know how the industry worked. Not really. And as much as I hated the idea of being stripped of agency and individuality, I was curious. In a morbid way. And as it stood, I was getting an invite for that from the tippy-top where pop stars were concerned. Even though I seriously doubted it meant getting invites to Illuminati summer barbeques, Sam seemed like a real pro. Maybe more than anyone on the scene.

So, I struck out my hand for him to shake. “Alright, deal. Shake on it, Slammy,” I goaded with a cocky grin.

He chuckled in amusement, taking my hand and firmly pumping it. “You got it, Miss Grey.”


	2. Chapter 2

Warning(s): T, drug mention 

* * *

 Even without saying, Aunt Safiya had understood why I did what I did. For as long as I could remember, being around other people, being in public, it’s always driven me up a wall. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but it still crops up and makes me feel like I’m suffocating, like the walls are closing in and I get so claustrophobic I feel like I need to flee the scene in any way that I can. Social anxiety, a therapist I met as a teen called it. And once it had a name, I was able to learn how to tame it.

She left me alone when I got home that night, the _Maghrib_ and _Isha_ prayers for the evening and night taking precedence, which I was grateful for. Tomorrow was Friday and she’d be going to Mosque for the midday service, leaving me in the house by myself before I had my night shift at Walmart. Even if Safiya didn’t understand why I insisted on working a part-time job, it helped. It was grounding and humbling all at once. A part of me that was still ordinary, that I chose to partake in.

While I was working, perspiring under the florescent lighting, my mind couldn’t help but wonder why Sammy had collapsed like he had on stage. It was exhaustion by the looks of it, which was an unfortunately common occurrence in the overworked stage performer, but why would the guy go nonverbal on top of that? Sliding in the last few cereal boxes into the cereals section, I wiped off the accrued sweat with the back of my hand, shaking out the platinum locks that had stuck to my face.

“Stay away from him,” someone hissed acerbically.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw one of my newer co-workers. Sally, a brunette from Washington who had moved to LA to make it big. A familiar story. “Uh, from who?” I prompted, arching a brow.

“You know who. You know exactly who the fuck I’m talking about,” Sally spat, glaring daggers at me with a hip cocked and arms folded. God, what the fuck did I do this time?

Wait. Oh. …Fucking _fantastic_.

“Or what? You gonna make empty threats all day?” I sniped back, glowering at her. I didn’t need this shit.

As if anticipating I was going to say that, Sally fished into her smock—that all us backdoor workers wore—and fished out a box cutter. Tearing open a box of cereal, I stared, dumbfounded, as she used it to rip open the plastic and dump the contents on to the floor. Raisin bran. Some oldie was not going to like that. Without hesitating, she did it with another when I did nothing to stop her but gape incredulously.

“Sally, what the hell!”

‘ _Sally Bowman and Danielle Grey, please report to HR._ ’

Even though I was burned, Sally seemed triumphant despite the ass-handing we’d be in for. During our walk of shame, I could hear her suddenly getting blubbery. Oh, great. I guess she was gunning to get into acting because the damn crocodile tears could’ve fooled me.

Once we were accepted inside of Damien Stephenson’s office—the aforementioned manager—the door closed with a sense of finality while Sally choked on a sob. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but it would only make me look bad.

“Ladies, sit.” We did.

Damien Stephenson was a large man, probably having been a wrestler once who nowadays sported a famer’s tan. He looked at us over the frame of his wire rim glasses, nodding expectantly. “Mind if I ask what went down out there?”

“I-It’s my fault, Mr. Stephenson. I was trying to help Danny, but she wouldn’t have it. You know, she’s so particular, b-but—” She sniffed dramatically. “Things at home, they’ve been so hard lately, a-and my dad’s close to losing his job, and we sacrificed so much just so I could be here.” Sally scrubbed away some tears while Stephenson nodded sympathetically. “A-And, Danny she—suddenly got so angry with me, and I got scared when she started ripping open those boxes of cereal. It was my fault, she got so fed up with me, I—” Sally couldn’t even finish as she broke down completely.

“That’s bullshit! Sally literally just went psycho and starting ripping shit open—!”

“Enough!” Stephenson interjected with a bellow, causing me to flinch. Sighing heavily, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sally, go back out on the floor and clean up that mess. Then you can go home. Danny, stay here.”

Sally sniffled again, Damien handing her several tissues as she meekly exited the office, the door clicking shut behind her. That witch! She knew the security cameras were angled in a way that would make her story more credible! Gritting my jaw, I sat there, fuming. That can’t have made it look any better.

“Mr. Stephenson—”

“Danny, I said, _enough_. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go. Whatever went down, your insubordination is completely unacceptable.”

I shot up from my seat, indignant. “You didn’t even let me defend myself; hear my side of the story! How the hell was that fair?!” I said back, flabbergasted. 

“Danny…” His tone dropped into one of warning, finger poised over a button that would bring security descending on us like vultures. He wasn’t having it. He’d rather listen to some scheming little bitch than me.

I grit my jaw again, shaking my head resignedly. “Wow. Shows who you can trust around here.” My eyes flickered sharply to his. “Alright, fine. I’m gone. Not like I want to be around a bunch of damn psychic vampires,” I snorted, turning on my heel.

God, that only made me feel even pettier.

* * *

The walk home did clear my head, but I’d be lying outright if I still wasn’t feeling burned from being fired from my job. And you know what it was like with people who could do just about anything out of spite? I was one of them. After this, I knew it wouldn’t get any easier. Even if I hadn’t been fired from my job, this was just the beginning, and I’d already agreed to this tutelage deal. Thing was, I wanted to take it a step further. Actually collaborate with Sam instead of just being a glorified groupie. Even though I hadn’t told him directly, Carl San James had been informed of the plan by my aunt and approved. Now all that was needed was a bombastic debut. Something to really make waves.

This would be my first real appearance on the music scene, after all. A recluse on the loose.

As the sun was beginning its descent on the Pacific, despite the 9 PM hour, I felt a thrill of excitement course through me when I produced my smartphone from my bag and found Sam’s number, we having exchanged them before departing from Desert Nights the other day. Okay, technically it had been a few weeks ago, but we needed to get this ball rolling. Figuring he wasn’t much of a texter, I decided to call him instead.

“Mm, hello?” a groggy and soft voice answered. Had he been asleep? I voiced that concern. “Ha, yeah. It’s my day off, but I don’t mind making time for a friend.” That made me smile a bit.

Inhaling a steadying breath, I clutched the phone tightly I was so giddy. “I want to do a photoshoot.”

I heard the rustling of sheets. “Photoshoot? What kind?” He didn’t sound bothered, but genuinely curious. If still half-asleep.

“Maybe something for Rolling Stone. To grab people’s attention. Like, really get them talking,” I supplied vaguely. Even I wasn’t exactly sure of what kind. I just knew Rolling Stone catered to my style and would probably be cool with something scandalous but punk. “You know?”

Samuel grew quiet, before answering, “You mean, like a nude photoshoot?”

I stopped in my tracks, mind blanking as my skin flushed feverishly. “A nude… _photoshoot_?” I echoed back, voice lilting comically. When I heard Sam begin to laugh, a bell-like sound, I protested, “Hey, be serious!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized through his giggling, sounding genuinely mirthful. “I was just teasing. I don’t do nude photoshoots, anyways. Not now, at least.” I seriously don’t know why my heart skipped a beat. “But, I like the sound of it. You thinking maybe a punk-rock feel? Kinda grunge?”

I grinned victoriously when he caught on. “Yup. I’m really not a bubblegum pop type.”

I heard him scribbling something on paper, imagining him in a tangle of satin sheets just writing away, maybe wearing reading glasses. It was a surprisingly humanizing thought. “I think I can clear my schedule. Would tomorrow be too soon? I have choreography to go over in the morning, but I’ll be free the rest of the day. Mr. San James told my agent any business with you takes precedence, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

I blinked stupidly. I don’t know why, but the fact that I was seemed surprisingly flattering. After being let go like I was someone’s used tissue, it was nice feeling valued. “One o’ clock sound good?” I offered, unsure of what else to say.

“Sounds good to me. Meet me on the tenth floor. That’s where the photo studios are, and our producer should get someone from Rolling Stone there by then. My agent will pass it along.”

I smiled, completely relieved. This seemed too easy, but maybe it was just because I wasn’t used to being anyone’s top priority. “Yeah, sure. See you there, Slammy.”

Before I could hang up my phone, Sam interjected, “One more thing: whatever they have us doing, I’ll make sure you won’t be uncomfortable, okay?” Even though Sam always sounded gentle, this was disarming. He sounded really genuine.

I stood in silence, nodding. “…Thanks, Sam. See you then.”

I swore I could hear him smiling over the phone. “Absolutely. See you, Danny.”

Holy shit. This was actually happening! Pinch me, I _had_ to be dreaming.

* * *

That morning, I was excited I couldn’t sleep in past six, which suited my aunt just fine. She always was an early riser, and once she concluded her morning prayers, we exercised most of the morning away until ten when we hopped in the shower. Safiya did her noontime prayers a little earlier than usual so we’d have enough time to prepare. After our showers, I clad myself in a plain t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Staples I bought from Goodwill, but I figured they’d appreciate a blank canvas. No make-up, as usual.

Safiya, clad in a light teal pantsuit, heels, and creamy gold hijab looked professional as always. A breakfast of fruit salad and we were out in a shot to beat LA’s legendary traffic.

For once, seeing Lowtown’s looming skyscraper made me feel elated, not struck down by nervousness. Like clockwork, we pulled into a newly designated parking space and took the alternating elevators to the tenth floor that yawned expansively, a little discombobulated by how big it all looked.

“This way, _habibti_ ,” Safiya motioned with a smile as she shepherded me towards the second door to the right, there a long walk between the doors. I swear, it was like there was an entire warehouse up there.

Once inside, I felt my heartrate climb back up at the cavernous space at the several scenes already set up, looking as though we’d walked in on a Guns N’ Roses day-in-the-life montage. Which, don’t get me wrong, was cool as hell. But it was intimidating how real this was, that it was actually, factually happening. My stomach did somersaults as I looked around, landing on a make-up bar where Samuel was currently under the glare of white light as a hair stylist and make-up artist worked in tandem, a spray of hairspray showering over his glistening black locks.

“Oh, there you are,” he greeted with a smile, inviting us in. Safiya smiled knowingly and left to speak with the director, leaving me to wander over.

Before I could reach him, a strong hand spun me around. A bronzy Italian man with a perfectly muscled physique appraised me, his kohl-lined eyes studying me closely while I fidgeted. “Oh, sorry about that,” he apologized, flashing his pearly whites at me. “I was just caught off guard. You’re a lot better looking in person, you know that?”

I swallowed thickly. “Seriously? Um, thanks.”

A black woman with a shortly trimmed afro came up by his side, catching sight of dusty color palettes smeared on her forearm. One of the make-up artists, probably. She looked friendly, though. “You’re Danny Grey? I think Rossi here is right, girl. You’re smokin’!” That I admittedly laughed at.

Rossi grinned approvingly. “My boyfriend’s a huge fan of your music. Even Carlotta here likes it.” He nudged the black woman, Carlotta, with a jocular motion as she laughed and swatted him away. They looked like friends. “Anyway, Sammy’s got his crew, so that makes us yours. This your first time?”

My heart hammered in my throat, feeling hot in my leather jacket and from all the attention. “No, not really. When I collaborated with some other indie artists, we did some really impromptu photoshoots. Nothing like this, though.” I still couldn’t believe the set up. It was more glamorous than anything I could’ve cooked up.

“Alright, no more dawdling! Come on, girl, we’re gonna make you look hot!” Rossi exclaimed, pushing me towards the folding director’s chair only a meter from Sammy’s, plopping me down in it and flicking on the light-ringed mirror. Old Hollywood, all that.

It was strange looking at myself in such high scrutiny. A heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, wide grey eyes, and round lips. Thankfully, I had the jawline to pull off short hair, or my close crop platinum locks would’ve looked terrible. Safiya always said I got my looks from my mom, and seeing it so closely now, I could see what she meant. It made me feel a little sentimental.

As Rossi flitted away to fuss over my first outfit, I dared a glance over to Samuel who looked almost done. His own make-up seriously brought out his own high cheekbones and symmetrical features, shoulder-length hair styled to ante up the natural coil and frame his features delicately. Eyes lined with kohl, he looked prettier than anyone I’d seen before and that was saying something.

I could see him glance sidelong at me, lips quirking up. “Does it look good so far?” As Carlotta was still mixing a palette together, I didn’t have to be too still. Crap, he caught me staring. I swallowed thickly.

“Uh huh,” I managed, training my own gaze on my reflection, the ground—anywhere but him. I was feeling flustered enough as it was and didn’t need to lose my composure over this. I heard him laugh and poked my tongue out he’d likely see in my mirror.

Before long, Samuel was ushered away to be outfitted while I was left behind to be subjected as Carlotta’s living canvas. She explained a gold and black palette had been selected since it went well with my own olive skin tone. So, I left her to it. While she went to town on my face and then some, Rossi came up from behind and began styling my hair. I kept my eyes closed throughout it, wanting to be surprised.

It felt like some millennia before they were done. Ordering me to alight from the chair but keep my eyes clothes, my pores felt plugged with mineral powder and my hair starched from the hairspray, but otherwise I wasn’t too worse for wear.

Behind a curtain draped between the open part of a corner, it was our makeshift changing room. “Change into this,” Rossi hissed as he slid the garments beneath the curtain, having stepped out of my sneakers before I began changing. God, the tile floor was cold!

Gingerly availing them, I felt myself pale. “Rossi, it’s…just a denim jacket, flimsy top, and a jeans,” I said in dismay, grimacing at his silhouette apparent through the white curtain. Well, that and those silicon boob cups that were thankfully flesh toned, so I wouldn’t have to worry about a the top's fabric being too sheer. But otherwise, I felt practically naked from the waist up.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, no one’s going to perv out on you or anything. Trust me.” Alright, Rossi. I hope you’re right.

Finally changed, I stepped out from behind the curtain, Rossi gasped in elation. “Holy shit, you look so fucking sexy, girl!” he exclaimed loudly, drawing the stares of everyone present. Clad in only the jeans, the denim jacket, and the ragged top, even as the stylist gushed. He goaded me to slip on some untied combat boots, which only finished off the disheveled look. Even Carlotta smiled, proud of her make-up job.

Safiya flashed me a thumbs up but otherwise politely averted her eyes, the rest of the crew ogling me forthright. It was like they’d never seen a made up woman before. Then again, maybe it was just that they’d never seen a made up  _me_ before. Danny Grey, infamous hermit artist, in the flesh. Lucky me the make-up and lighting masked my flush.

It was Samuel who was among the most shell-shocked, wide-eyed and staring intensely like he’d been entranced. He definitely rocked a punk look, with a shredded t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket, but I’d be lying through my teeth if I thought he didn’t look good.

“So, uh, who here drove a white sedan here? Because your lights are still on,” I said wryly, trying to cut through the tension with an awkward smile. As if time itself resumed, there were some laughs but everyone otherwise got on task again.

“Alright, everyone, places!”

Samuel snapped out of his rapture, and tugged me near, out of the way of the crew. The first scene was a Corvette Stingray we’d posing with. With a black backdrop, it looked like other things would be edited in post-production, maintaining a classic greaser vibe. S.E. Hinton would be proud.

“You feel alright?” Sam asked, keeping a polite distance between us. “I know things might be kinda racy, but the director said we’re not doing anything hardcore.”

Okay, that was a relief. “I’ll be fine, Slammy. Let’s knock ‘em dead,” I simpered with a wink. I really needed to channel in the rocker vibe. Be a little cocky, like when we’d first met. Seeming assured, we broke apart and waited for the scene to set.

When the lighting was made proper, they had us standing plainly in the scene, adjusting the lighting, Carlotta fussing over one thing or another before we really began posing. And it was just as it’d promised to be: racy and salacious. But nothing too scandalizing.

The first had us embracing like we were mid-make out, his hand on the small of my back and the other motioning like he was tearing off my jacket, bosom flush on his chest. Sam’s breath puffed warmly, and I heard him swallow as we held it, giving sultry looks to some invisible trespasser off-set. Maybe it was the photographer calling little cues to angle our bodies and faces in incremental ways, but it took a bit of the edge off. Though, the heat between our bodies made even that difficult.

But, Samuel was a gentleman. He whispered if certain places he touched were okay, and it made me feel relaxed.

For another, I was hopped on the hood of the 1969 Stingray, the grille of the car digging into my thighs while Samuel slotted himself between my open legs (not enough for real contact), looking as though he were ensnaring me with his eyes alone. The director wanted me to look enthralled, smirking directly at the camera, and I did. Imagining Sally’s infuriated expression made it all the more satisfying.

Another, we were in the car, paused like we’d been making out, hands tussled in each other’s hair. Whoever planned this really knew their stuff. For something that had made me flustered to think about, it wasn’t so bad in execution.

“Wow, I love how candid it looks,” I commented several takes later, leaning into the photographer who showed me the screen of his heavy camera. His name was Tony and he was famous at Rolling Stone. That he’d been the one to commandeer the photoshoot was pretty awesome.

“It’s the look we were going for,” Tony explained, thumbing through the gallery. And he was right. The bright exposure made it look like the paparazzi had stormed in on the manufactured affair Sam and I appeared to be having. “You ready for the next scenes?”

I was having way too much fun with this.

For the next several hours and a few outfits later, I embroiled myself in this punky love affair. It was like playing dress up as a kid, and it wasn’t that hard losing myself in the role. Though we stopped for breaks, I couldn’t help but notice that Sam didn’t seem all that chatty. Like he was too busy stewing on his own thoughts. I just figured it was the intensity of an artist, not breaking character. Understandable. Carlotta and Rossi picked up that slack and I enjoyed talking to them, too.

It wasn’t until at least eight that we were done, and I was glad to wipe off the make-up and dress like myself again, but not before I snagged some selfies with Carlotta and Rossi beforehand. We swapped numbers, and I’d be lying if this wasn’t the most fun I’d had in a long while.

By the time I changed back and was clean of all traces of make-up and hair product, Samuel had done the same. Around us, the production crew was packing up, which meant they largely left us alone. In light of all the pictures we’d taken, I’ll admit I felt pretty shy around him.

“That was fun,” I quipped, breaking the ice. “Honestly, if there’s more to come I think I can look forward to it now.” I tucked some hair behind an ear.

Samuel cracked a smile, nodding his head. “Tony said the magazine itself won’t hit until next week, but he’ll be posting some production shots on his twitter and Instagram. It’ll probably create a lot of buzz.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I agreed. God, talk about hanging. What did you talk about with the guy you’d had your mitts on for most of the day? “You doing anything next week?”

Sam looked apologetic, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got a lot of meet and greets all next week, some concerts and interviews—sorry, Danny.”

I pouted my lower lip in mock disappointment, but then laughed in good nature. “Hey, mister superstar, don’t sweat it. I’m probably going to do my own thing. Honestly, I feel seriously inspired. I’ve got some tunes burning my fingertips that need to get out, you know?” Among other things. I honestly wanted to give this dumb Hollywood starlet lifestyle a shot. The one all the punk rock bands sang about.

“ _Habibti_ , we have to get going! Tony wants to take us out to dinner!” Safiya announced with a giddy smile. I could tell that she had taken a liking to the older man. I waved back.

“One minute, aunty!”

Turning to Sam, I offered my hand. “Let’s shake on it. You knock ‘em dead, and I’ll come up with some new songs. You’ll love them, promise.”

Expression visibly softening, he took my hand and shook it like last time. “I’ll look forward to it, Miss Grey.”

* * *

The first half of the week, I needed to recharge. No real outings, no one I really communicated with except Rossi, Carlotta, and some friends from work. Those were all iMessage, seeing as I needed some good old-fashioned hermit rejuvenation. And it came better than I thought. The genesis of new songs didn’t always spring forth, and I redid them a lot of times. Liking a part, hating the rest, composing something new around it. No one said it was ever easy, and the photoshoot did help with my inspiration a little.

For some reason, it felt harder this time. That it wasn’t entirely me, but drawn from that temporary persona I wore like a shirt. And it’s hard to get that inspired from a shirt. The end result was two songs that could be made into raps. I’d think up lyrics later. Right now, I was feeling creatively constipated.

Flopping on my bed in its little corner, from the chaos of synthesizers and instruments cornering it, I felt stymied. Groping for my smartphone that I’d haphazardly thrown amid the tousled sheets, I scrolled for Rossi’s number and texted him: _Hypothetically speaking, if you were bored out of your mind and completely uninspired, what would you be doing?_

I waited as it indicated being sent, a bubble with bobbing dots indicating that he was typing something back. I received: _Take a newfound friend to the Hollywood Hills and show her a real party, duh!_

Okay, he had a point.

I was completely green when it came to the upper crust scene. Wild parties, probably drugs and too much drinking, every somebody in Hollywood showing up. Or at least enough people that the paparazzi tried hiding behind ferns for a snapshot. Rolling on my back, I replied: _What kind of party?_

He didn’t take long to respond. It starts at 8 pm. _Mostly people in the fashion industry, so no one you’d know or really run circles with. Carlotta’s coming, so should you!_

Now that itch was begging to be scratched.

So, I bounced from my bed, and asked Safiya if I could go. If anything, she was more than eager to see me getting out of the house. All while urging me to wear some of the designer clothing they let me keep from the shoot: a Dolce & Gabbana pair of distressed jeans, some Hollister black tank top, and a strappy pair of Jimmy Choo’s. Safiya helped style my bangs into a cowlick that framed my face and applied some winged eyeliner and lip gloss. Enough to make a statement, but not enough to scream like I was desperately trying to impress.

Availing myself in the full-length mirror, I had to admit it made me look like I ran circles with the upper crust. Thank you, photoshoot swag!

A horn honked outside our house proved to be Carlotta and Rossi, looking flawless even from where I was. “Hey, long time no see!” I greeted while being engulfed in a hug after hopping into their VW Bug convertible. “You guys look great!”

“We’re gonna blow ‘em out of the water!” Carlotta cajoled as she gave me a fist bump and Rossi steered the car from my driveway.

“So, who’s the unlucky host?” I asked as he swung into traffic and breezed the rest of the way there.

“Some guy named Alfonso. Spanish designer or whatever. He’s seriously making waves in Milan and decided to throw this huge party,” Rossi answered for me, popping a stick of bubblegum in his mouth. He chewed loudly, which Carlotta made a face to. “I think people will be glad to see you there, Danny. You’ve been a hermit for too long, seriously.”

I took his word for it.

Several minutes and belting out songs playing on Sirius later, we arrived at the venue. Valets were busily finding parking for the guests’ cars, undulating bodies on the roof and throbbing music punctuating the air. Strobe lights created a dizzying atmosphere of myriad lights and the din of dozens of voices caused my pulse to spike.

 _Okay, no more running away,_ I urged myself upon feeling my anxiety spiking. I sucked in a calming breath as Rossi pulled up and handed off the keys to the next valet, looping his arms through mine and Carlotta’s once we all had exited the convertible.

Inside, it was chaos.

But, a good kind of chaos. In the massive foyer and adjoining living room were people sprawled in their designer finery, a sea of silk and satin, that seemed to be the networking hobnobbing. A sedate cocktail party while the crazier antics were confined to the upstairs deck and the outdoors terrace and pool. It seemed like a reasonable first level. Rossi disconnected our arms as he deftly plucked three flutes of champagne from a passing waitstaff’s tray that he then offered to the both of us.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip. It was good, and probably insanely expensive.

People greeted Rossi and Carlotta like old friends while gossip arose at the sight of me. While I was gaining attention in the offline world, it was weird putting it in practice. “Um, hi,” I offered shyly, wagging my fingers sheepishly. Some returned it but returned to their conversations. My face fell a bit.

Rossi rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Girl, you have got to learn a thing or two about socializing. Your future as a star in Hollywood could depend on it. Let’s put you through the hoops.” He hooked his fingers on one of my dangling gold necklaces and I almost yelped but was leashed along while Carlotta had our tail with a grin. Leading me to the terrace outside, a DJ enthroned above the chaos spun his various remixes while people shouted encouragingly for more, especially when the bass dropped. Rossi navigated through the throngs of people, pushing me down to sit on a porch chair. “Wait here,” he instructed with a saucy smile before sauntering away.

I flashed Carlotta a confused look but she only smiled encouragingly. This must’ve been like playing House for them, shaping my social life. Not that I wasn’t grateful, of course.

But a minute later, Rossi emerged with someone I recognized instantly. Hell, it took a lot to keep my jaw from dropping.

Sweden-born Linus Gundersen was the lead guitarist of the emergent indie goth band, Half Past Midnight. With long, straight black hair, broody blue eyes, and a handsome and angular face, he was the stuff everyone idealized when they thought of real-life vampires. Also, he was hot. And muscular. And looking right at me.

_Shit._

Standing instantly, probably looking like some bumbling fangirl, I stammered out, “H-Hi,” and struck out my hand for him to shake. He quirked a thick black brow, smirking roguishly. But, he took it all the same.

“You the one my man Rossi was talking about?” he asked, eyes never leaving mine. Not that I wanted them to.

“Yeah. Danny Grey, at your service,” I replied meekly, all before I tried to remember my swagger from last week. I straightened my spine, cocking a hip and tried to work up a similar smolder. “I take it we haven’t met.” Even if it was a bluff, his smirk only widened.

“We’ll leave you to it, then.” With that, Rossi snagged Carlotta and dragged her back inside.

“I’m Linus. I’ve heard a lot about you, Danny. You make some damn good music.” Holy shit. I still wasn’t used to this famous people knowing my name and music, thing. “You want a drink?” Belatedly realizing I’d left my champagne absently somewhere, I nodded. Taking me by the hand, much to my internal delight, he led me towards the punch bowl. Dishing us both small cups of it, he led me aside to one of the standing tables.

Realizing that I’d be talking to him like it happened every day, I calmed myself down. “You enjoying the States so far?” I broached, figuring it was a safe way to segue into a real exchange.

Tucking some of his long locks behind an ear, he nodded after sipping his drink. “Yeah, I’d say so. LA has a lot more going on here than Stockholm. Can’t say I’m against it so far. You?”

I took in a breath. Nothing wrong with a little honesty, right? “I was born in Greece,” I began, garnering his attention at that. “Stuff went down and I moved at ten to Rio de Janeiro, got my start there. I lived there with my aunt for…gosh, little less than ten years? I only came to the US pretty recently. Like, a few years ago, at most. It was a big adjustment.” He nodded appreciatively.

“So, we’re in the same boat. Kinda nice to meet someone who knows what it’s like.” I smiled genuinely at that. He really was right about that.

An interlude passed between us, until Linus broke it. “Rossi actually brought this up, but there is something I wanted to ask you.” I perked up at that. “So, it’s kinda under wraps, but dating for people like us is a lot different than normal folks. It’s…kinda like a buddy system, I scratch your back, you scratch mine. We’re both new to Hollywood, right? Well, I think hooking up could do us a lot of good, stir up the right gossip. Get our names on the map. Couple of indie artists supporting each other. Not a bad deal, right?”

Huh. I’d never actually looked at it that way. Truth be told, I didn’t need an incentive like that to agree to date him. Linus was good looking, and that was usually the start to just about any relationship. We were a couple of indie artists navigating what was sometimes called an “old money” industry. One that clutched its pearls in reaction to the phenomenon of self-made artists and celebrities. It was a lot smarter than it let on. God knew I’d need the best support circle I could get.

“You do have a point,” I conceded, nodding slowly as I digested the information, “but I don’t really need an incentive to want to date you. You’re an attractive guy, Linus. I think we’d have a lot in common. But, I do like the idea of it.” Maybe that sounded naïve, but I didn’t care. Who the hell would pass up on the idea of dating him?

He smiled widely. A genuine, eye-sparkling smile that made my heart flutter giddily. “Want to make it official?” he goaded, eying the dance floor. Fishing in his pocket for his own smartphone, I nodded eagerly.

Taking me by my hand, Linus stood behind me and grinded against me, but before it became overly sensual, he looped an arm around my hips and held the phone far enough for us to pose, me nestled against his chest like I belonged there. Quickly, he uploaded it to his Twitter, and I buzzed thinking about the waves we’d be making. But, we wouldn’t see the aftermath as he put his phone away and took me by my hips and began grinding on me for real while I swayed to the numbing beat.

The strobe lights dizzying, the tang of gossip ringing in my ear, I no longer felt stagnant.

I felt electric and I never wanted this night to end.

* * *

The rest of the week was pretty uneventful, but productive. I went on a very publicized but mundane date with Linus, which entailed going to a Renaissance fair that was in town. It was a lot more fun than I thought it’d be, replete with feed-clogging pictures aplenty. I was learning how to be comfortable expressing myself to an audience more, and with him it became easier.

Together we were in talks of doing some collaborations, maybe even appearing in some physical music videos, which my aunt gave approval for. In fact, she gushed over our relationship more than I initially had. And her approval meant the world, whether I said it or not. In fact, I was on cloud nine so much for the rest of that week that, when another Monday rolled around, it felt like someone chuckled a brick at my fantasy and shattered it when I realized that Sam was back.

Oh. Right. I was his mentee, right?

Carl San James had an appointment with us, something I hadn’t realized was in tandem. Sam was there first, long, curly hair pulled back as was the norm, his deep brown eyes glancing at me surreptitiously. But, it felt different. Like I’d grown another head. His jaw was set, not giving me any more acknowledgment than that. Carl seemed too engrossed in the affairs to come to care.

“Why don’t you two catch up? I need to take this call, one moment, please,” Carl excused before leaving the office, fishing in his lapel pocket for his cell phone and closing the door behind him.

Sam sat in obstinate silence, purposefully giving me the cold shoulder. Even an idiot could see what he was doing.

“So, uh…did your tour go well? It was getting a lot of cred on Twitter,” I tried, working up a meager smile. “You looked like you were having a good time.”

Silence.

Okay. Maybe it didn’t go as well as I thought? “Your concerts looked fun. Seriously, I kinda wish I would’ve been there.”

He glanced up, then down again, pretending not to hear me. His side bangs cascading over his face hid a lot.

I grit my teeth, huffing in frustration at him. I threw up my hands. “Okay, what the fuck is going on here? I’m just trying to be friendly, but you’re over there fucking… _man_ -strating or some shit like that!” I fumed in frustration.

This caused him to react with the suddenness of a jaguar baring its fangs to growl. “Don’t call it that!” he snarled back, voice rising a decibel I’d never heard from him. This was coming from a guy who was the most mild-mannered celebrity in the business. I actually reared back.

Before I remembered my own anger. “You leave for a week and suddenly you get this fucking attitude, excuse me?! Talk to me, Sam! I’m not a fucking mind-reader!”

Sam laughed mirthlessly, and I could swear I heard his voice crack. “That’s real rich. I leave for a week, and suddenly you’re riding on the coattails of the rep _I_ gave you! What, now you conveniently have a boyfriend who fits your stupid indie aesthetic like it’s nothing. And I’m the one with an attitude?” Wait…were his eyes shining? Sam looked away before I could get a better look. Like he knew I was prying.

“What the fuck, man?!” I cried out indignantly, rising like a shot from my seat. “So what if I have a boyfriend now? We hit it off! God forbid I maybe want to be with someone who gets me? How the hell is that so bad?”

Sam jutted his lower jaw, biting his lip. Wait…was he? “I thought you were different, Danny. I thought you wouldn’t lose yourself to this industry this fast. I thought you were better than that.” Oh, my fucking God, the audacity of this guy!

“Who the fuck do you think you _are_?! I’m a fucking human being, Williams! I’m not your doll to mold however the fuck you want! FYI, I was _me_ before I signed my soul to the fucking devil! Nothing changed! You just woke the hell up and don’t like that I won’t and never will fit into whatever fucking mold you had prepped for me. Fuck you!”

Fighting back tears, I balked when Carl came in, having missed our row, surprised as I adroitly skirted past him and raced down the hall. In a way I didn’t think would be happening. Last time it was anxiety, now it was tearing apart the fragile beginning of a friendship he thought was forming with the pop star.

It was his world, and I just didn’t happen to fit in. Maybe it was better this way.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning(s): T, none

* * *

 I didn’t speak to him after that. I couldn’t even bring myself to shoot him a text on my phone about official business. With Rolling Stone’s June issue having dropped, the spread was making huge waves. People at once knew and wondered what I was, because the image it boasted was so much more daring than the reclusive front I’d presented online for years. And people wanted to see more. I couldn’t hinge my budding career on Sam after that outburst, and even if guilt ate at me, pride was the bigger monster here. And I listened.

The interior of Linus’ apartment was dark and smoky, lingering cigarette smoke clouding the ceiling in lazy wisps while he and I lay sprawled in shorts and t-shirts, it already noon but not having moved an inch. I’d been there for the past two days, but my aunt knew. She was okay with it, what with me long past that age of it being alright. My ear pressed to his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breath lulled me. I blinked as motes of dust danced in the murky sunlight, morphed by his warped windows.

“Do you think I should? Apologize, I mean,” I said suddenly, Linus taking a drag from his cigarette. It smelled warm and familiar. His long hair fanned around him like a peacock’s plumage.

“You talking about Sam?” I nodded, his name like a barb nowadays. “I would. Even if you aren’t as close as you could’ve been, you don’t want to make an enemy out of him. Just because he fronts as a gentle guy doesn’t mean he couldn’t destroy your rep overnight. You don’t get that famous by being everyone’s doormat.”

I sighed. Dammit, he had a point. “You’re a guy, right?” He laughed at that. I smiled reluctantly. “If a female friend burned you over something stupid, how would you want her apologizing to you? Even if you should totally be the one kowtowing first for being a stupid jerk.”

Linus exhaled smoke thoughtfully. “Think it depends on the angle I’m seeing this chick. If she’s really just a friend, it shouldn’t be that hard. Guys don’t get hung up over arguments as bad unless it was downright horrible. But,” he lifted the cigarette from his lips and flicked out the ashes on an ashtray before replacing it between his lips, “shit gets complicated if there’s feelings involved. Especially of the illicit or unrequited variety.”

“Since when did you become a poet?” I teased, though I didn’t smile. It was a dumb attempt at deflecting the ‘feelings’ part I was happy to avoid. Hell, even we hadn’t crossed that threshold yet. I grimaced a bit. “You seriously think he could have feelings for me? That’s…huh. You know, I never entertained the idea of it? He’s so… He’s on another level.”

Linus chuckled a bit. “You thought he’d just be some benevolent benefactor, right? Who gives you scraps occasionally. Shit hits the fan when you realize you’re both human. That’s why you both exploded. He didn’t anticipate that. Can’t really blame the guy, though. That ‘other plane’ shit gets trippy when you realize guys like him literally can cultivate their own worldview in a literal sense.”

My brows furrowed, flummoxed. “So, what do I say? ‘ _Sorry I just realized you’re a real person now, and that I don’t fit into your cookie cutter world’_? Yeah, that’ll go down swimmingly.”

He patted my head, but less patronizingly and more with affection. “Just talk to him, babe. Could always suck his dick if nothing else works,” he quipped with a cocky grin, causing me to sit up and smack him with a pillow.

“You’re gross. Besides, I’m dating you, idiot!” I wasn’t hiding my smile, though. He was ridiculous, sure, but hilarious.

Linus snorted and moved the pillow off his face. “Just saying. A lot of the world’s problems can be solved with some TLC below the belt.”

“Are you suggesting something I should do to you, or that would magically solve my problems?” I asked dubiously, quirking a brow.

He shrugged nonchalantly, rolling on his side, probably to sleep more. “You tell me.” I sighed. Regardless, nothing was going to get done by staying here.

“I’m gonna shower and head over to Lowtown. Try not to burn the place down before I get back.”

* * *

So, this was happening, somehow. I texted Sam, made it clear that I needed to talk. He agreed, told me to meet him at his apartment. Which was a penthouse that possessed its own floor, so I highly doubted anything illicit was going to happen.

When I actually arrived, I was frisked. Fine, seeing as Sam was pretty damn popular. Even I was earning more doubletakes on the street. Memory of the photoshoot crept up and haunted me, paling as I entered the elevator an elevator operator manned, being one separate from the others, balking a bit as I hadn’t expected him. “Um, hi?” I greeted uncertainly, but their demure smile was placating enough. Pressing a finger to their Bluetooth earpiece, they received confirmation that I had been expected. An appointment to get to his apartment? Talk about a mood killer for one-night stands. If he even had any.

In uneasy silence, I made my ascent to his floor, which was the oft unmarked thirteenth floor. Unlucky or clever, I couldn’t say. I was glad to disembark either way, what with the operator’s silence unnerving me.

The richly appointed hall leading to Sam’s penthouse felt like the corridor before a final boss, and I belatedly wondered if I’d buffed myself up enough. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Rapping my knuckles on the door, I didn’t wait long before a primly dressed British butler answered. “Ah, you must be Miss Grey. Please, do come in,” he ushered politely, I stepping through. I then shrugged off my leather jacket for him to take, folding my arms uneasily.

It was a beautiful and ornate apartment, but too ornate. Pristine and untouched as a museum. Kicking off my combat boots, my Goodwill chic making me feel awfully underdressed. This felt like a black tie affair. The butler led me wordlessly, through winding halls until we came to a pair of double doors. He knocked on the doors, receiving a soft question as to who it was. When he said my name, whatever was going on became deathly silent. Bowing at me, he opened the door to let me through and I felt my anxiety spike again. _Crap._

Inside, Samuel had been engrossed in what looked like songwriting. To my surprise, I could’ve sworn I heard samples of the instrumentals I sent him. I had emailed him them before our fallout, after all. I furrowed my brows, folding my arms, still defiant and defensive. So, I stole the moment from him.

“Alright, I’m waiting. You owe me an apology, buster, and I’m not leaving without one,” I said stormily, narrowing my eyes at him.

He sighed heavily, removing his reading glasses. To my guilt, there were bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. I swallowed, pursing my lips.

“There’s more than just that, Danny. Can you sit? There’s…things you have to know. About me. Before we can go forward with this whole...deal.” He smiled, mirthless as it was. “Things you have to learn about me before we go back to being friends.”

I raised a hand to stop him. “Whoa, whoa, what do you mean ‘ _before_ ’? Hey, maybe it’s just me, but when the hell did we stop? Friends don’t split up after one petty argument. You’ve got it pretty twisted, don’t you?” This caused him to sigh sadly, and I swear it was getting harder to stay mad at him. The guy looked like a kicked puppy and it killed me inside.

He tried smiling again, but…shit, he looked really hung up on this. Like he was about to cry. Which wasn’t so surprising. He’d said in past interviews that it wasn’t an uncommon thing for him to do. “No, you’re right. I guess I’m just awful at this, huh?” It was a watery smile; the kind you cracked after being humiliated cruelly in class and expected to laugh along.

I kicked my own pride aside and skirted around his desk, pulling the man into a hug and feeling him burrow his face into my neck, clinging to my person. I stroked through his coily black hair, Sam’s grip digging into my shirt. “…I’m sorry for all that. Really, I am. I was an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.” Fuck pride. How the hell did you stand idle when someone so broken down was barely hanging on?

I led him to a plush couch within his study, by his hand and we sat down together. Sam kept his eyes trained down, and it was obvious something was eating him up. Something that had him by the foot. “Danny, growing up, did you ever hear about someone by the name of Samantha Baxter?” he began, letting my hand go and clasping his hands on his lap.

I riddled through the inventory of my mind, seeing if it rang a bell. It did. “Wait, _the_ Samantha Baxter? That child prodigy acrobat who was with P.T. Barum  & Bailey’s Circus, later the Cirque du Soleil? I idolized her as a kid. Why?”

Samuel swallowed thickly. That was the story. The Baxter family of acrobats was one of the first African-American families in the circus circuit, turning out legendary performers since the 1900’s. It came to an end when its heiress, who had started when she was four or five, disappeared from the scene at fifteen or so. Completely ghosted after her parents died in a stage accident some believed was deliberate on part of some jealous crewman. The Baxter family’s world-famous legacy had ended with her. It made for good heebie-jeebie fodder in the early AM, though.

“There was something wrong with her, people thought. She was never a little girl, Danny. She was me.”

My eyes widened at the confession. “Wait, so…you were… _her_?” It wasn’t impossible.

Samuel nodded numbly. “My father’s surname was Baxter. My mom’s was Williams. After they died, I just…disappeared. Made myself scarce and used my inheritance to do what needed to be done. Everyone thinks she died that night, but ‘she’ survived. No one knows what really happened.” He fidgeted uncomfortably, but I waited. He looked tortured keeping it all in. “But, you know how it is. I just can’t keep away from show business. I did for a little, when I was growing up. My greatest act was Samantha, but Samuel was who I really was. Living as her, then my parents dying—it was the worst. A nightmare.”

The truth sacked me like a sledgehammer. But it also made so much sense. Being under the spotlight like that, with transgender people being heavily stigmatized as it was, Sam couldn’t be himself and transition so publicly. “And you’ve never told anyone else?” I broached, taking one of his hands comfortingly.

He nodded. “People pretend to be so progressive, but you know how it is online, right? Now just…it isn’t the time. I can’t get out of the closet yet. I can’t lose what I’ve built up as Samuel. This life means everything to me, because it was done by myself. Not riding on an old family legacy or doing it as someone I was forced to be for years.” An act. I didn’t know any other transgender people, but I knew him. Linus had been right. He didn’t get handed this but had fought his way to the top. When it was a legacy you built yourself, you’d defend to the death the right to stay there.

“I don’t think you’re a freak, Sam. I know—it took a lot to say this. But your secret is safe with me. Just…can I ask what happened yesterday?” He looked up, guiltily, before sighing profusely. “What was that about? It almost seemed like you thought I’d sold myself to the industry or something. Becoming some corporate shill who fit into whatever mold the higher ups had in mind for me.”

Samuel dropped his gaze, but he didn’t let go of my hand. I squeezed it reassuringly. “When this all began, I thought this meant I could have a friend. Someone authentic who didn’t buy into all of Hollywood’s crap like I have. It’s one big high school popularity contest, you know? Really stupid and petty. But there you were, doing your thing. Not caring what other people thought. Just being you. Then…I saw your Twitter, and that Linus guy. I thought that was it. Like I’d lost that chance.”

In retrospect to the life he’d lived, it made sense now. Maybe it was less trying to make me into something I wasn’t, but an acceptable version of myself. Like I was still innocent in the face of what Hollywood did to people. We both knew what it did, and I wanted nothing to do with it. “People can still party and date and be public about their lives without losing sight of themselves, Sammy. Or becoming total sellouts. The second I would feel it’s happening, I’m gone. I hate being shoved into a box.”

The older man nodded obliquely, understanding. He pulled his hand away, which surprised me a little, but I wasn’t going to force him into anything. “There’s more to it, Danny,” he admitted, dropping his head so his side bangs hid his face from me, making him unreadable. I looked bemused, but my silence was quiet assent for him to continue. “I like you. And…not just in a friendly way. I mean, _really_ like you.”

This caused me to rear back a little, feeling my heartrate rocket into my throat. Wait…he _liked_ me? So, Linus had been sorta right? In retrospect, even that made sense. Maybe I was too sunk under the deluge of keeping character, but actually seeing the photoshoot we did made the tension palpable. Hell, that whole ordeal was one, big public second base and some hints at first. …Well, shit.

Samuel took my silence for mortification, looking away and likely feeling embarrassed. Shit, I had to say something or else he’d think I was totally against it, which—was I? I liked Sam, but I also liked Linus. But, did something stronger exist? “Sam…” I began, though seeing him wince was painful.

“No, it’s okay if it never crossed your mind.” Samuel laughed, but it was severely constrained. Like he was masking his hurt. “I’m probably too high-maintenance with all this pop star crap. And the drama—they’d dog after you. Kinda egotistical to think you’d be attracted to me just because I’d want it,” he continued, digging his own hole even deeper. Shit!

“Wait—I never said that! I actually think you’re hot, so excuse you!” When it dawned on me what I just said, a blush grew. I was foot-in-mouth most days of the week, but even that was pushing it. It felt like I’d dropped a bowling ball on my foot just to prove gravity existed. Samuel looked at me in shock, like a deer caught in the headlights. Fuck. Who needed to dig my own grave when I’d nuked a hole in the ground in one go? “Like, the photoshoot, I mean—it…wasn’t entirely acting. On my end. And, yeah, I mean—you’re…good-looking. I, and…” God, are you there? It’s me, a total fuck up. I think I was beet red by this point.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Sam suddenly said, and I blinked dumbly, but he was smiling. I guess that counted as an improvement.

“Nuh uh! I’m manly as hell!” I retorted back, indignant, but it probably had no effect as he started laughing. Taking him into a fairly gentle headlock, I gave him the world’s most ineffective noogie, mussing up his hair. “Who’s laughing now, wise guy?” We were both smiling like idiots, though, so I guess we both were. I let him go, even if he seemed reluctant.

Funny how there were moments when time seemed to stop, when every stupid decision you could stand to make seemed so _right_. I don’t think either of us were at fault, either. It was tentative, careful, as the gap between us closed bit by bit. I broached experimentally, lips barely touching his, but he replied right back a little more. Eyes flitting between each other, watching over every little thing, gestures that became quiet permissions. But, there was too much to keep inside. A dam burst, somewhere, and I drowned.

I suddenly leaned in to kiss him after our gazes captured each other, maybe being a little more passionate on my end. Sam was slightly taken aback, gasping for a breath, but I chased his lips and smothered our mouths together, and he kissed back just as hard while his hands fumbled with where to go, what to touch. He uttered a small, breathless moan and I swear his lips were the softest I’d ever kissed. Without warning, I swung a leg over and straddled him, arms around his neck and fingers caressing through his hair. his climbing down my spine. He even felt me up, squeezing my ass that drew a gasp from me.

“Danny,” Sam sighed, eyes heavily lidded as we kissed again, barely finding it in us to breathe. “Maybe we…” As he was trying to speak, I lavished some bites and kisses to his neck, earning a buck of his hips, “…should stop. Hah, _fuck_ —”

“Or what?” I prodded puckishly, there a lapse of a moment before he took me by the small of my back and an audible ‘ _oof_ ’ as I landed flat on my back. Sam got comfortable between my thighs, only aware of the heat between us when he shifted away, lowering himself on me again and how much I liked it. How passionate it was when he kissed me, marking my neck in what I knew would be hickeys that would flare up like a riot of color.

Sam suddenly stopped, resting his cheek on my heaving bosom and letting his eyes sink closed as he caught his breath. I gazed at him, bemused, but not willing to push it. “I’m…sorry, that got out of hand,” he apologized, averting his gaze from mine.

I couldn’t help but huff slightly in disappointment, drawing a concerned look from him. “I’m not. Hell, next time you’re on the phone and I’m around, I’ll give you head until you can’t string a coherent sentence together,” I simpered with a shameless grin, causing him to rear back, scandalized but also looking morbidly fascinated with the concept.

“Danny! Out loud? Seriously?!” he protested with a deep flush, sitting up as he hid his face in his hands. It was cute, but I couldn’t help but be disappointed that it was over. He sat on the edge of the loveseat.

“Yes, seriously. Girls can like sex, too, dumbo,” I chided rather playfully, draping myself on his shoulders and worming my arms around his neck. I leaned close, breath ghosting on his ear, even going so far as to nibble its shell. He shuddered richly from it, exhaling a shaky sigh.

“What about your boyfriend?”

What about my… Wait. _Shit_. Feeling incredibly stupid, I withdrew from my odd embrasure of him and felt a cold pit of dread hollow its way into my gut. I stared at the ground, pursing my lips. “Shit…” I gave him an apologetic look, trying a smile. “Look, I’m sorry, Sam. You must think I’m a big asshole. I don’t want to toy with you, honest. I’m just…bad at relationships.” It wasn’t untrue. I hadn’t dated since Rio, and even those felt like casual flings.

“Do you like him, Danny? I mean, really like him?” Sam ventured almost hopefully, something that looked like yearning in his eyes.

God, this guy would be the end of me, I swear it. “I do,” I admitted, without pretense. “But…not like that. Rossi introduced me to him last week, and even Linus said dating in Hollywood can be strategic, you know? A buddy-buddy system, so I went with it. And it’s not like it was hard. The guy is seriously attractive.” Backpedaling, I added, “Not that you aren’t. Girls don’t randomly make-out with— Fuck. Sorry. I have zero idea of how to word this without it sounding bad.” I raked my hands through my choppy hair.

Sam looked a little distant, but content. Like someone broke bad news that wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated it’d be. That wasn’t much of a placation, if I was honest. So, I took his hands in mine. “Sammy, be honest with me, please. How do you feel about me; about all this?”

He averted his gaze from mine but nodded. After what felt like an agonizingly long moment, he said, “I already said what got me so upset, but I guess there was more to it. When we first met, the photoshoot—I guess it felt like we had something. And it hurt when I suddenly saw you with Linus, that no one even told me to my face. I guess I’m just old-fashioned like that.” He quirked a sheepish half-smile at me. Sammy was an eighties kid alright. Totally old-fashioned. Though, his smile fell. “I was jealous. I guess I just didn’t really acknowledge it.”

I think I knew what had to be done. I wasn’t a total dumbass when it came to things. Samuel hadn’t been the only one in the room who had fought for their success.

I flopped back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling while Sam canted his head at me. “Why does stuff in Hollywood happen so fast?” I wondered aloud, though Sam seemed to understand it was rhetorical. I trained my gaze on him. “It’s only been what—a month? Maybe? Just—if I suddenly break it off with Linus and start dating you, the public already knows that this whole deal is a mentee/mentor deal, it’s gonna look _really_ bad. And the last thing I need to establish myself as is a gold-digger or glorified groupie who fucks her way to the top. Or worse, someone who uses people I date as stepping stones. Or just shallow altogether. That’s not me.” I puffed air through my shaggy, short bangs.

Samuel eventually resigned himself to sitting like I did. It was like urban stargazing, I guess. “No, I get where you’re coming from. My being almost double your age wouldn’t help with that.” He giggled to himself and hid it behind a hand. “It’s kinda exciting, isn’t it? It’s like reading a Charlotte Bronte novel. Or just a good romance in general. You know?” He looked dreamily at the intricate ceiling.

I quirked a brow at him. “Samuel Williams, you are a goddamn hopeless romantic, you know that?” I accused with a wry smirk.

He only grinned broadly at that. “Guilty as charged!” he agreed rather brightly. “Aw, sue me. I think I already know where you’re going with this. You keep dating Linus, but we do our thing. Pretend like there isn’t something, but everyone sees it. Lingering gazes, real affectionate touches, cute but incriminating candids—things that get people talking. Make them think there’s something more. Which, there will be, but they won’t know it. It’s something out of a fairy tale, isn’t it?”

I raised a single finger. “Uh, you’re kinda forgetting Linus’ feelings,” I said pointedly. Sam grimaced at that.

“Didn’t you say your… _fling_ got started out of some Hollywood buddy-buddy system?”

“I mean, yeah, but what if he feels something for me? I’m a loyal bitch, Sammy. I don’t sleep around.” Just as Sam was about to interject, I cut him off, “And no, spontaneous make-outs do not count, for the record. Even if the other party has really nice lips.” He accepted that smugly.

“I still like my plan,” Sam said after a beat, folding his hands on his stomach. Just to prove a point. And it was a good plan, but he had enough brownie points for one day.

“Doesn’t it require actually doing stuff? Like we originally agreed?”

Sam lolled his head to the side to look at me languidly. “I actually thought about that. You and I already dropped albums pretty recently, right? We need our flagship collaboration project. Our big bang, and I know just the thing.” He leaned over, causing me to move back a bit, a giddy shine and expression on his face. “A concept album. Like, not just songs we do together, but songs with a motif. An aesthetic—a whole story. Like, blockbuster as it gets!”

This caused me to quirk an uncomfortable smile. It sounded expensive. Me and people spending outrageous sums on my behalf didn’t mix all that well. “You mean, like, multi-million, platinum dollar sign blockbuster?” I asked uncertainly. He pouted at me.

“Come on, Danny! Think outside of the box for a second. I even have a theme in mind: steampunk, but in Spain. I’ve always wanted to do something with steampunk! It’s so cool, you know? All you ever see it with is Victorian England. Think of how romantic something in the Mediterranean would be!” There’s the buzzword, right there. No wonder he was sold on his own idea.

“I won’t have to do the Flamenco in a dress made of pipes and gears, will I? Actually, nix the idea of dresses. I fucking _hate_ dresses.” We’d seemed to have come to an impasse, both falling silent. Maybe I was too much of a nose to the grind realist, but how far could you get living life it was some big fantasy? And I knew celebrities could get away with it, too. Samuel seemed half entrenched in his own, to boot.

Though, his dreamy levity seemed to have worn off. “Danny, I’ve been doing this for over twenty years. I’m not the guy tripping on my own visions in some ivory tower. Someone handles the budget, and if it’s too extravagant, we trim the fat. It’s not rocket science.” He gazed at me with a critical eye, eliciting a groan from me.

“Well, I’ve been doing my stuff the average Joe way for years, Sam! I get it, I get it: it’s not a big deal. But, y’know, this is my first time doing this whole,” I gesticulated oddly, as if it’d help conceptualize my words, “just—Hollywood thing, business… _stuff_. I’ve got a shit ton of anxiety that probably isn’t healthy, but how am I supposed to sleep easy knowing there’s millions of dollars over my head and I’m completely unproven in the whole big boys arena? Yeah, you’ve been playing it for years so you know the game, but what if I completely crash and burn? What if what works on the net completely flops? What if everything I worked for completely fucks over, or people don’t like it and I take you down with me? Holy shit, the last thing I need is to be the reason Samuel Williams goes bunk!”

My thoughts were racing a hundred miles a minute, every repressed anxiety spilling over like water left to boil for too long. I folded my arms, curling my legs up and hugging them. Sam was silent, but I could tell he was conflicted, wanting to say something. “I know, I can’t just let indecision and fears eat me alive, but—it’s just hitting me now that, yeah, maybe I actually like my success. And maybe it’s too late, but I don’t want everything I worked for to tank. And I sure as hell don’t want to be the reason either of us fails miserably!” I probably sounded like a raving madwoman, but when your mind made yourself claustrophobic, it was sometimes hard finding a way out. My heart was pounding!

“Danny,” Sam said firmly, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder, “you don’t know that. If I had any doubt in my mind that we wouldn’t work well together, you wouldn’t have been approached with this. I did some covers of your songs to experiment, and they came out really damn well. You know you can lean on me, right? That’s part of the point of this. You’re still, like, my Jedi Padawan or whatever they’re called.” I’ll admit, the Star Wars dig brought me out of my funk a bit.

I unfurled myself, feet lowering to the ground again. Having an anxiety attack in front of your not-boyfriend counted as a base, right? Hunching my shoulders, I knew he was right. “I guess the reality of all this is just hitting me now. I’ve seen some tabloids, online and not, and the stuff they say… They really don’t bother to flatter even the newbies, huh? I keep forgetting I’ve been a musician for almost a decade, and a pretty public one at that. Even if I rarely saw the light of day. It’s just…culture shock, I guess.”

Sam smiled encouragingly at me. “But you’re not going it alone. You’ve got me and your friends, and we’ll be thick as thieves. I’m not gonna let you down, Danny, promise.”

Alright, I’ll admit, that did me in. In a good way. I mustered up a smile, almost ready to pounce him in a bear hug. “Hey, you told me your level four tragic story, so you know I’ve got your back.” My smile faltered a little. “Seriously, Sammy, I’ve got your back. Look—I might not really know anything about being trans, and maybe I won’t ever really understood what you’ve gone through or what it’s really like, but I’ll do my best. It’s a 50/50 thing, so I’ll definitely never dump too much on you. Getting therapy for this damn anxiety might be a start… Oh, and cracking down on this big project of ours,” I added kinda giddily. What can I say? I wanted this to happen, full-stop.

With that, he made his move and engulfed me in a hug. Did I mention his hugs were the best? At least, now they were, compared to all the other hugs I had.

“Let’s do it. Let’s knock ‘em dead.”


	4. Chapter 4

Warning(s): T, none

* * *

 

The next morning, I felt too inflamed with a sense of purpose to really sleep in, which suited my aunt just fine. It dawned on me how different things would be, that the honeymoon period the past month or so had been was finally over. It was business time. Time to finally buckle down and actually get involved in my craft instead of passively living on the sidelines. That meant a hell of a lot more involvement from Safiya, who didn’t seem to mind in the least.

As she had her morning prayers to attend to, that meant logging into my Youtube channel for the first time. At first, it felt ordinary. Then, I saw the subscription total, and the views. Almost 11 million subscribers and trickling higher every month. I nosed through the analytics, the uploads, feeling like I was walking through a museum. A museum featuring my songs. There had been a queue steadily releasing audio songs, but no live recordings since weeks ago. I felt a little bad, but an announcement video featuring the photoshoot was the most recent upload and told all.

It was strange, almost startling. Like waking up. I couldn’t think of a better descriptor, but this wasn’t a silent epiphany; this was real. I was collaborating with (and covertly romancing) one of the most popular pop stars of the past few decades and it all hit like a freight train. Like I was on the brink of turning the page into the latest chapter.

“You like what you see?” Accompanied by the aroma of an authentic Turkish brew, Safiya brought another swivel chair to the office desk where I had set myself up on her desktop. I glanced over at her, but our attentions seemed pretty firmly trained on the screen.

“Remind me to get you a lifetime supply of Godiva chocolate or something, Auntie. I had no idea you had been doing all this for so long,” I marveled, whistling low at the snazzy graphics on the channel header and a lot of the video thumbnails. Hell, even my iTunes merchant account was pretty bedecked. She’d really spared no expense.

Safiya scoffed warmly, but it was a tender sound. “Don’t forget, this has been my job for the past several years. I was able to quit my old one because of you,” she reminded pointedly, elbowing my side. I couldn’t help but laugh a little.  

“No thanks to you I’m not starting out from rock bottom. Seriously, this is top notch stuff. Makes me wish I’d been more involved sooner.”

Safiya took a long sip of her coffee, deep brown gaze flicking to me. She brushed a strand of platinum behind my ear. “You’re starting now, aren’t you, _habibti_? Question is, where do _you_ really want to start?”

“Wow, not the best question, but—where do we go from here? You have a game plan? Because I’m so, _so_ stumped,” I admitted, exaggerating a wince.

She smiled knowingly, rifling through stacked papers until she came to a notepad that had been erratically scribbled on. Flipping her black hair over her shoulder, Safiya made a noise of discovery when she found her last place. “Here we go: concerning this channel, since your new projects with Sam are under wrap and key until they drop, I thought a good go-between would be re-releasing old songs you first composed in your busking days. Then, we’re going to make a personal channel for vlogs, podcasts, and life updates; whatever San James approves of being posted concerning yours collabs will go up, too. Something Sam wouldn’t mind getting in on either, I’m sure.” She winked at me, causing me to avert my eyes. “Otherwise, all your collaboration material—the official stuff with Sam—is going on Sam’s official Lowtown channel. Fun stuff, right?”

I almost wanted to faint I was so relieved. It was days like this I was glad my auntie was also my agent; she knew what needed to be done while also keeping my sanity. While she spoke, I transcribed it into my phone I kept with me at all times, my only anchor when it came to my scatterbrained idea of organization. When I finished, Safiya was gazing at me affectionately that made me fluster a little. “Something wrong?”

She dropped hers when she’d been caught. “You remind me so much of your mother. She wasn’t as…extroverted, let’s say, but when you get in that window of concentration it’s impossible not to see her in you.”

I knew she meant to be tender, and I appreciated the sentiment, really, but more than anything a grief I thought I’d moved on from crept tightly up my throat. I swallowed thickly, sitting back in the chair and putting down my phone. I knew my eyes were getting misty, even though I couldn’t see myself, and my lower lip began worrying. “I miss them so much. I thought, after all this time that I wouldn’t, but that’s such a fucking lie.” There came the waterworks. Stiff upper lips really weren’t my forte, because how could I not miss my own parents so fucking much?

Safiya’ eyes shone too, not bothering to wipe hers as she let herself cry, a watery and disbelieving laugh escaping. “I know, _habibti_. I know how you feel. Maryem meant the world to me.” Her voice was strained, but it didn’t matter the minute she engulfed me in a fierce hug, not this tight since after my parents’ funeral almost fifteen years ago. That it had been so long hit me like a ton of bricks.

I loved Safiya like she was my own mother, but we both knew she couldn’t take my mom’s place. And she didn’t want to. She could be a maternal figure, but at the end of the day she was my aunt and wore that title proudly. Just as I was proud to be her niece. We were flesh and blood and nothing could pull us apart.

“Safiya?” I murmured into her hair, cascading like a warm waterfall around my face. “I’m glad you’re here with me. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather be here with.” I paused for a long moment, sighing shakily. “I love you.”

She nuzzled against my temple, stroking through my cropped hair. “I love you, too, Danny.”

* * *

From what we had discovered, routine did me a world of good. At first, it was breaking me back into the familiar: time to compose music, write lyrics, and the all-important recording session. As I had dozens of songs from my past, some unfinished and others in dire need of a present-day overhaul, this kept me busy. There was enough material to keep my channel active for months, so I was far from worried about that.

Then came the vlogs. I found these were easiest to record from my phone. Record, do some basic editing once I uploaded it my room’s desktop, upload. Rinse and repeat. It was cathartic, the more I did it. Granted, I didn’t reveal everything and its mother, but just enough that I could get a load off. It provided both an engaging and necessary accompaniment for me, too. These became daily, too, if I had enough to say. And I could be quite the chatterbox when I wanted to be.

Socializing was a big part of it. Alongside Sam’s agent, a ruthlessly intelligent and organized Puerto Rican-American man named David Martinez, they were organizing more and more meetups for me. Not just that, but interviews and even appearances on local personalities’ podcasts. People who underwent a screening process beforehand, but people who even Sam knew. So, they could be trusted.

Of course, there were the photoshoots and even some small ads. Nothing overly dicey because I was still painfully green on Los Angeles’ scene, but that part wasn’t too unfamiliar. Safiya had arranged some back in the day, even before I was attached to Muse as a breakout record label. So, it was familiar if different territory. Not to say was an old hat, but it was good enough.

In all, all this was sandwiched between the string of collaborations I was simultaneously doing with Linus’ band, Half Past Midnight. It was edifying work that left little time for ourselves, but he understood.

Except, would he? In all my zeal I hadn’t even told him the truth about Sam and I. Every time I tried, a knot bunched in the throat and I couldn’t speak. I felt tainted because of it; dirty, even. Like I was some dirty rotten excuse of a girlfriend for using him like this, all as a mask so I could get at someone else. Sam had faith that I’d told him by now, even when I hadn’t. Which was why I think he didn’t bring it up in the few times we Facetimed since I left his apartment following our reconciliation over two weeks ago.

Yeah, two weeks. Funny how time flew when you were actually busy. This is how it was, wasn’t it? Hell, I barely even saw Linus outside of our work. He didn’t seem to resent it all that much, but it just made the guilt heavier every time I saw him.

It was around Saturday at the end of week two when I arrived at Lowtown to see what Sam and several concept artists had been working on. When Sam met me outside of the conference room we were convening at, I didn’t have time to mentally prepare myself when he backed me against a wall and kissed me passionately, arms and hands coiling heatedly on my body while his tongue opened my teeth and our breaths panted together. I felt drunk on his passion, eyes lidded as we kissed successively. I wanted to moan; god I did, because he was that good, but they others were waiting. They thought Sam was catching up with me before it began, not making out like teenagers just feet away.

“ _Fuck_ ,” I panted hotly after we broke apart, foreheads resting against one another. Between the droves of work and dreamless sleep, my body had reacted intensely. Enough that the worry and the guilt were almost forgotten for an honest moment. That, and Sam was just a damn good kisser when he wasn’t inhibited.

“The others are gonna be about twenty minutes until they finish their lunch breaks. Maybe you and I,” he murmured conspiratorially between kisses along my jawline, “can play catch up in the unused conference room down the hall.” I swear, the way he went on to my neck went straight to my solar plexus. It was really, _really_ hard to dwell on the guilt when I enjoyed the attention.

After biting my lip to keep down a moan, I nodded blearily. “’kay,” I acceded, much to his boyish delight. Grabbing me by the hand, we dashed down the hall like giggly teenagers until our venue of choice was found, the door clicking sedately behind us. Pity we were anything but.

It was a mad rush to strip off my leather jacket and tank top, unable to keep our hands off each other. Thank God the conference table itself had rounded edges, so when my back touched it after I straddled his lap, the pain wasn’t so bad. “That alright?” Sam queried softly, taking pause. I nodded, a fluttery feeling making me feel almost high.

It was fun, it was intimate, just making out like this. There was nothing risqué about it, I think. Just our hands caressing our bodies, our lips making a deep connection, and it made me dizzy. It made me high. I don’t know if Sammy was super experienced, but I don’t think either of us cared. We liked each other a lot, and that’s all that mattered. Not perceived defects, or trepidation. Just two enamored people exploring each other where no one else could see.

“Holy shit,” I breathed as we rested our foreheads together, breaths coalescing before Sammy craned forwards to kiss me gently.

Samuel laughed breathlessly. “Mission accomplished, huh?” he hummed affectionately before embracing me, nuzzling his face into my collar. I swear my heart skipped a beat, winding my arms to keep him cradled there, burying my nose in his curly hair and inhaling the scent of all the earthy oils he used.

“Keep this cuddly nonsense up, Williams, and you’re going in my phone as ‘Teddy Bear’,” I teased mirthfully, to which he responded with a disgruntled sound and smothered his face into my neck further.

My eyes drifted towards the clock, a spike of impetus startling me from the embrace. “Shit, we’ve got like maybe a minute!” I said in alarm, practically springing from Sam like I’d been stung, hurriedly fumbling to put on my tank top and belatedly praying the hickeys wouldn’t manifest during the meeting. At least I wasn’t going in with the coil of tension I’d been harboring for God knew how long.

“Did you tell Linus? About what’s going on?”

This caused me to stop dead in my tracks. The pleasant haze morphed into a dread pit of nausea, feeling my temperature spike along with my anxiety. I stopped dead before the threshold, just about to swing the door open and trot down the hall. I shook my head. I just couldn’t lie to the guy. That much I could do right. “No,” I admitted, freezing where I stood.

Sam grit his jaw, anger and hurt beginning to manifest as he rose from the seat. “You know, I’m having hard time believing your whole speech a few weeks back about not wanting to use me. Because I’m feeling pretty used, Danny.”

I turned around, his judgmental glare hurting more than anything else could’ve. I raked my hand through my still disheveled hair, throwing my hands up. “I’m sorry, alright? It’s just—how do I go into this alone, after making out first of all, and just tell him? How do I do it _now_? We’ve been collaborating, yeah, but we haven’t had time to just sit down and… _talk_. Our work’s been keeping us apart.”

Sam’s expression gentled, even if the hurt didn’t entirely go away. “I don’t want to lose you, Danny. I want you to be my girl, but without— Dammit, I don’t want to sneak around just to see you! What if I talked to him for you? Just set the record straight?”

“Sam, that’s not fair and you know it!” I protested, hearing my voice crack. “It has to be me. But what if he feels used? I don’t know shit about how he really feels about me! I don’t know if he’d get pissed—or what!” I swallowed down the sudden surge of emotion, glancing at the clock with a defeated sigh. “Fucking fantastic. My bullshit’s gonna make us late!”

“Danny.” I felt him touch my folded arms with his hands, pressing a chaste kiss to my forehead. I flinched, but not unpleasantly. “Let’s do it together. We’ll sit him down and explain everything. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

I wrapped my arms inexorably around his neck, pressing a quiet kiss to his pulse, nodding my head. I was just too overcome to say anything, but I trusted him.

More than anything, I didn’t feel like I deserved him.

* * *

The meeting was promising, but otherwise uneventful. Sam put on a chipper façade the moment he walked in while I was just quiet and contemplative. At least, that’s the front I was trying to wear. The concepts were interesting, but I was too distracted to really care, my mind concocting nightmarish scenarios of how it would all go down.

It wasn’t until midway that week that we were able to arrange something, agreeing to meet in the Hard Rock Café’s back rooms that people like us were allotted. Given exclusive stake of one of their better rooms, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. Linus and I arrived first, followed by Sam. We ordered drinks first and foremost, Linus under the impression it was just a friendly celebration of our mutual collaborations. With me. No pressure, right?

“You know, you’re a lot cooler in person, Williams. Back in Sweden, we all carry this expectation that Americans are supposed to be really arrogant and shit. Especially your celebrities. Glad to see someone breaking the mold.” Linus leaned cockily back in his chair and took a swig of his beer.

Sam laughed, but even I cringed at how uncomfortable it sounded. “You got me there. It’s pretty common in the industry, isn’t it?” He had beer himself, already halfway through. Part of me dreaded a potential row. God, I hoped not.

“See, Danny gets it. It’s kinda culture shock for her and I, you know? Getting used to the American dream and all. But,” Linus acceded with a wry smile, “we’re here to celebrate all that. To us immigrants making our waves, eh?” He raised his beer, which Sam did mutually. I only ordered water, so I made my cheers with that. We clinked our drinks together before leaning back in our seats in unison.

The cheerfulness felt like a mask. Especially between Linus and Samuel, like you could cut the tension with a knife.

“Okay, I don’t know about you guys, but I am so here for a burger. My aunt is relentless on making me eat all bonafide California healthy with her. I need something junky,” I said as I took a menu, trying to shift the attention away from me like it was some kind of partition. It didn’t really work, but it was worth a shot, right?

I swallowed thickly when I heard Samuel clear his throat, Linus’ bright blue eyes fixated on him. “Listen, Linus, there’s something else we need to talk about. It’s not the only reason why we’re here,” Samuel began and I swear I felt my nerves trickle away like sand down an hourglass. I lowered my eyes, guilt culpable in spades.

Linus laughed mirthlessly, setting down his drink. “Um, okay? Let’s hear it. I’m all ears.” His smile seemed wolfish and unnerving. Samuel didn’t relent. Linus was only a few years older than me, and I doubt he was as intimidated as I felt.

Samuel raised his hands placatingly, glancing towards me, and I met it gingerly. “Look, we’re not trying to start shit. It just…got really complicated. For Danny and I.” I was close to grabbing his hand for support, but was too paralyzed to even think of it. Linus’ expression was unreadable, and hard. “We like each other. Shit just happened, alright? I was blindsided, too, and so was Danny. I just hope maybe you can understand her, If not me. I wouldn’t even dream of it, honestly.”

Linus cut a short, dry laugh. “So, basically you guys were screwing behind my back? Huh, that’s pretty fucking interesting, right, Danny?” His glower was incriminating on me and I could feel it boring through my skull. “You know, it’s funny. Right now, I’m just wondering if it’s because you like the idea of her, and if Danny here just wanted to screw her way to the top. Never took her for the type, but who am to know? I was just boy toy number two, playing second fiddle to you, eh, Williams?”

“Linus, that’s not fair and you know it,” I interjected, daring to look at him directly. I couldn’t let Sam take all the blows for me. “It’s exactly as he says. Things got complicated, and that’s it. I swear.”

“What’s not fair? How you hopped from me, the foreign rocker who has a lot of intrigue surrounding him, to one of the biggest names in the pop industry?”

It sounded a lot worse put into words. I winced but tried to steel myself. “Look, last I checked, Rossi set us up as some buddy system. You said so yourself! So sorry if I was under the impression that what we have wasn’t even real! How do I know you weren’t using me?!” I demanded irately, feeling flush with anger. Like hell I’d be accused of being some cheap Hollywood bimbo! The last thing I was, was some damn gold-digger! “My name is bigger than yours, you fucking idiot, or did you forget that, too?!”

“Don’t push it, Danny. I know a lot of tabloids who’d love to hear this. They love shit like this.”

Growling, I sprang from my seat and dashed what remained of my water across his face. “Real fucking brave! What would you do, flaunt your one-inch wonder? Fuck you!” Leaving him bewildered and sopping wet with water, I fumed and grabbed Sam’s hand. “Go fuck yourself, you goddamn Sadako wannabe!”

Storming from the back room and down the way we came, we exited down the steel stair and came to where Samuel’s personal bodyguard and driver, Lars, was waiting for us in the back alley. Lifting his face from his smartphone he was likely playing mobile games on, he was met with the sight of me embracing Sam tightly. It was returned, even if Sam was still processing what had just happened. We rested our foreheads together, feeling calmer from that alone. “Fuck him,” I murmured, cupping his face. “Guess I’m all yours now, Sammy.”

“Think you forgot one thing, though,” he murmured, his soft gaze making me melt. “I’m all yours, too. It’s a two way street, Danny.” Fuck, I couldn’t help myself as I just up and kissed him. I was so relieved I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“Um, sir? We should probably get going before any civilians see,” Lars cautioned as he stuck his head out the window, then emerging from the armored car to open the back door. “You, too, ma’am. It’s not safe to be in public for too long.” Oh, I forgot. That and I didn’t want to be subject to any mudslinging this prematurely. Not when our relationship was barely out the gate. Sam took my hand and we ducked into the car as quickly as we could, Lars speeding us out and into traffic. Thankfully, the windows were heavily tinted and no one had seen us.

Still, I felt a sense of purpose weigh me. I had to get the truth out before that slime ball tried anything skeevy.

* * *

That night, I made a vlog about it. Certain I needed witnesses, Rossi participated and verified everything I had to say. Even if he had been acquaintances with Linus, that’s all they’d ever been. According to Rossi, we were true and blue friends. Having him on Facetime while I recorded helped, though after some thought I left the video uncut. Uploading it and seeing it on my everyday channel caused my heart to hammer in my throat, but I knew I’d done the right thing. I didn’t defame him but told the truth. What people would make of it remained to be seen, but I was certain I was in the right.

I didn’t mention that Sam and I were an item, though. I’d never asked if I could mention him, and in hindsight I think this was as good an alternative as any.

Carlotta texted. She was certain I needed some retail therapy, and I agreed. Tomorrow we’d do that, and more. A girl’s night out sounded exactly like what I needed.

“You doing alright, boo? I saw the video,” Samuel said on call a few hours later. I’ll admit, the endearment took me off guard in a good way. Reminded me that what we had was real.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me, Sammy. I’m made of tough stuff.” I was idly going over old song sheets, tacking away on my keyboard that was muted. I was just fiddling with it, anyways. Nothing too serious.

“You sound it. Hey, you know we begin production tomorrow? We’re gonna start meeting at Lowtown’s in-house recording studio. Me, you, the works. You excited?” The delighted cadence in his voice made me smile. “Don’t worry about bringing instruments. They’ve got everything.”

“You sure about that, Mr. Williams? Because last I checked, you Yankees tend not to have specifically tuned guitars or traditionally made Greek instruments from the fatherland.”

Samuel laughed heartily. “Yeah, want me to book an appearance by Hercules and some satyrs while we’re at it?” he teased mirthfully, I able to practically hear him grinning.

“What, and leave out Medusa and her harpy posse? What kind of person do you take me for?” I demanded in mock defensiveness, feigning being offended. God, I adored this dork. Or nerd. Whichever worked better, I guess. “…Can’t wait to see you. Try to get some sleep tonight, okay?” I said that bit softly, probably sounding mushier than I intended. Whatever. I had license to do that now, didn’t I?

“You too, boo.” Smiling, I smooched the air before the speaker like I was smooching him in person. Hanging up, I flopped down on my bed.

This was where the real work began, didn’t it? Most of all, I was just looking forward to seeing him.

* * *

The mudslinging came, alright, but it seemed only to be with faddy tabloids no one really paid true mind to. Still, that wasn’t enough to avoid that sensation of having ice water dumped on my person totally. It had come in the innocuous form of Safiya and I heading inside of a convenience store en route to a destination she was keeping mysteriously hidden from me, but that didn’t matter when I saw the magazines in the wire stand and the headlines proclaiming the bad blood between Linus and I now.

He had gone to them, the bastard! Pieces of my vlog was used as official citation while the rest dredged through Linus’ side, even if it was far from impartial. Though Linus had no real confirmation of my relationship with Sam being a thing, the speculation remained: was this indie artist new on the commercial scene hopping between famous artists for her own benefit? Though they had no way of confirming, pictures of the photoshoot were acted as evidence.

I burned with embarrassment and indignation alike. Though it would be old news by next week, all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide away until it blew over. But if I did that, Sam advised, it would be proclaiming my guilt. I hated how he was right, but God forbid I might want to lick my own wounds in peace, right?

“Danielle, are you alright?” I whirled around to face Safiya, sagging with relief. “Don’t pay attention to that. It’s nothing.” In public, she used my real name, which helped take some eyes off me. Lucky me I was difficult to recognize without make-up.

She moved her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose, adjusting her hijab to deflect any covert conversation we were making. I nodded numbly and let her pay for the Pringles and water I had bought to tide me over for the rest of our trip. As we sat ourselves back in her Porsche, I grew silent after stowing the purchases in the meager backseat.

“Can I sue for libel or defamation if it gets bad enough?” I asked with a hopeless lilt to my voice, earning a concerned and strained look from Safiya as we pulled out of the gas station and back on to the high way. Here, I could admit I was scared. Petrified to think of what could happen if it was taken too far.

The bright sunlight glanced off her sunglasses, the cool air of the Pacific breezing through my hair and her head scarf. “I can bring this up to my lawyer later, sweetheart. Right now, let’s just focus on having a good time, alright? We aren’t going to Long Beach just for fun.” Her smile was tight, but I trusted her. I trusted my aunt with the world. Though I still didn’t understand why she was so mysterious, I trusted her.

It wasn’t much longer before we banked off the highway and slowed into the familiar traffic, the sunlight scintillating on the ocean placidly on the horizon. Even I had to admit it soothed my frazzled nerves a bit. After what felt like a lifetime more of traffic and getting dizzy from the fumes of cars around us, I perked when we drove past a sign indicating Alamitos Bay Beach. I still remember the first time we went here, skin prickling with excitement and comfortable familiarity all at once.

After a long stretch of sand-flanked roads and beneath the umbrage of palm trees, we finally came to the beach proper. The air was crisp and cool, and widely populated by tourists since most locals were otherwise at work this time of day. The stretch of beach Safiya wanted to occupy was thankfully devoid of people. Clad in jean shorts, an Outrun tank top, and leather thongs, I hadn’t bothered with a swim suit. I wasn’t really in the mood.

Safiya rifled through the duffle bag she’d packed before, I the one with the small parasol balanced over my shoulder. God, she’d been right about that part that promised not to be fun. From the duffle bag she produced a small stainless urn still contained and immediately I felt my eyes begin to water.

Mom’s ashes.

Knowing I’d seen them, Safiya smiled distantly. “I’ve spent years divvying up your mother’s ashes, _habibti_. I’ve taken them and your father’s to every place I knew they loved, made them happy, that they called home. But this much I’ve saved for you. I’ll give what’s left of your father’s a little later on, but this is for you. I wanted you to be able to spread some in this place that you’ve made a place for yourself. That you call home. I know you love the sea, that you love California. This is why we’re here, my dearest niece.”

Wordlessly, I took the container for her and looked towards a nearby cliff face that loomed over the ocean, rising like a behemoth before stretching into the continental shelf that meandered interminably into the horizon. I knew where I wanted to go with this. “Auntie, do you mind if I go alone? I won’t be long.” Safiya acceded with an understanding expression, understanding the sheer magnitude of this.

I vlogged it. Maybe it was vain of me, but as I hiked up the gradual incline, I vented all my thoughts. Everything I was okay with revealing, at least. When the sun’s glare was at its strongest, the wind gustier up here, it was there in the wind blowing towards the open sea that I filmed myself spreading my mother’s ashes that disappeared into the rays themselves.

She was headed to a better place, now. A place where I’d always be close by.

Finishing my vlog for that day, I let it upload and then switched off my phone, collapsing to my knees where I let myself sob ten years of grief in a sorely needed catharsis.

I don’t think I ever felt better than I did after honoring my mother I wish I had years ago.


	5. Chapter 5

Warning(s): T, none

* * *

 I knew what an enormous leap of faith this was for him. It was a trickle, the boundaries we crossed. It seemed so ordinary for normal people, but for us, we could hear each other’s pounding hearts wondering what the other person thought of this. The creamy gold marble of his bathroom and the lack of mirrors seemed to expound on this, and I wanted to understand him. I stood close by as he began to strip off his shirt, hands clammy as I was careful not to make it seem like I was stripping him bare with my eyes.

I didn’t want to trigger dysphoria or anything, after all.

The shirt came off and our eyes met, Sam taking one of my hands to run over his chest, feeling the scarification beneath his pectorals and the off-white, unusually smooth but irregular skin beneath. Gliding my fingers over the nipples, of the areola, his temple rest against mine and our breaths sounded deafening in the quiet.

“You alright?” I murmured, trailing down his navel and touching the barely-present flare of his hips. Though Sam was slender, muscle rippled beneath my touch, puffing gently on my shoulder as he seemed drowsy. All I could hope was, maybe, it felt good. Like I wasn’t trying to peel away his skin and pour out all his vulnerabilities. This was farther than most people had ever gone.

“Yeah,” Sam affirmed with a ghost of a smile, pressing his lips on the column of my neck. The tenderness caused my heart to flutter, sappy as it was.

It was him. Exquisitely, warmly him. I glided my fingers along his biceps, his shoulders, caressing skin and taking in soft pinches of flesh. It was like I was trying to memorize him, remember the shade of the dusky copper of his skin and the way the muted gold of the light around us reflected from it like gemstone. It was like the sun cascaded from every pore, and I was enamored.

As much as I would have happily acceded to some casual shower without all this fanfare, it was how we established trust between us. How I could feel the tensity ebb away and something warm and familiar take its place. Something that remembered my touch every time it passed by. This was on Sam’s terms and I was really growing to appreciate how the game was played.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” I said suddenly, his eyes snapping open. I don’t what about it was so warm, what about his fathomless brown eyes just drew me in, but I nuzzled our noses together and his seriousness fell away. He grinned with a megawatt smile, probably the brightest thing I’d ever seen. Second to only the sun itself.

“It’s weird hearing that. So many fans repeat it like a chorus, but—it starts to lose its luster after so long. Being alone all the time, isolated by your own reputation it’s…torture, isn’t it? Especially when you’ve been holding in a secret so long you could burst. That you’ve got to tell someone. It’s lonely. So fucking lonely. Ordinary Joes don’t know how good they have it.” Sam embraced me closely, our bodies flush together. I could almost feel it trembling off him; the pain, the memories.

“Meanwhile, they dream of this, don’t they?” I quipped back, thinking of the shiny metallics of costumes, elaborate ensembles, everything that would soon come to pass. A hand glided lower, at the hem of his boxers. “You okay with this?” I would always be careful, even if it seemed so nonsensical. He nodded, touching our lips together. “When I say stuff like that,” referencing my compliment, “I don’t mean it in some flattering way. I mean you, Samuel Williams. Just you. Not the celebrity. You believe me, right?”

His hand cupped along my jawline and we kissed inexorably. When I finally breached past the hemline, it felt different. Sensual, where no one but him had been. It was him. Sam rested his forehead on my shoulder, breathing placidly. Being the same height, it was easy to do. Though, we were both sticky from a busy day. I was, at least. A day at the beach and an evening with my boyfriend. Pretty good day, right?

Slipping off his boxers, I having been nude to begin with, he spun the dial to the shower and a pleasantly lukewarm mist caressed my face. God knew I was in dire need of a shower. The shower was large enough to accommodate us both, the glass door shutting we were once in.

Soaking my hair and slathering a huge dollop of shampoo through, I grew quiet. “You think Linus is gonna do anything? I think that emotional vlog I did today might’ve helped, but…I’m not sure. I just don’t want shit to hit the fan,” I confided in him, Sam flipping over his sheet of curly hair over his head upon dousing it in water. I liked it when his hair wasn’t in its usual ponytail.

“He said what he could, right? Not like the guy can really prove we’re even together. Though, I’ll admit I’m surprised he didn’t tear into me as much as he could’ve.” Working shampoo through his follicles, his gaze was sidelong and thoughtful. It’d make a nice candid if I weren’t sopping wet myself.

“There might be a reason. You’re larger than life compared to him, even me. He might’ve been too intimidated to. Besides, I think his vendetta will ultimately be against me.” I made a face while lathering soap on my body, feeling better already.

“Danny, if he tries anything, we’ll sic some lawyers on his ass. And I’ve got some of the best on my side, trust me.”

We continued our shower in relative silence, servicing each other in our own way. It was nice, being able to touch him, and him, me, without there being a hugely sexual charge. Not that he wasn’t breathtaking to begin with, but—it was him. I liked cherishing every part of him, inside and out.

We toweled off and dried our hair, Sam’s doubling up with oils and other product while I let mine go to air dry. Maybe it was weird, but I liked watching him. It was so ordinary, but relaxed and peaceful. No throngs of fans to try and gang up on us, though I dreaded the idea of going into public with him just yet. Especially after Linus’ tirade to the tabloids. Though, San James insisted it generated interest in our work. So, free publicity—even some bad press—was still publicity.

Eventually, we dressed in sweats and t-shirts, cuddling in his living room to campy old movies over glasses of wine. I don’t think I dozed off better then when I was asleep in his arms, and even if my night was dreamless, it was blissful and serene.

* * *

“Wait…you’re serious? Like, 100%, totally serious?”

When Sam and I came to Lowtown to convene that day on more collaboration details, I was feeling pretty good about myself and our efforts. Within the past several days, I’d managed to compose more alpha stage songs, putting as at a decent count of four of five depending on how you looked at my progress. Sticking with his theme of Spanish steampunk, it allowed me to dip into my roots in Rio and the music typified of a Hispanic country. Throw in some industrial and it was starting to take shape. It was enough for Sam to begin conceiving of lyrics, suggesting changes—little things, before we’d record the album formally by the time we had enough songs. This I could roll with.

Impromptu dance lessons, not so much.

When you had rolled out of bed wearing what amounted to your pajamas (baggy pajama bottoms and a band t-shirt), you didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t like I was required to appear before a camera or do anything broadcasted, but I felt sloppy compared to Sammy who wore a neat white v-neck and black jeans. He looked damn good, as usual, but in foil to me I felt completely unprepared.

“Sammy, look, I love working with you as much as the next guy, but dance lessons? Like, what’s the big deal?” I asked as we stood alone in one of the dance studio rooms. I folded my arms, waiting to be chastised by whoever was going to be teaching us. Sammy would probably pick it up easily. Me? I had two left feet and never danced a day in my life.

Sam swiped some of his errant side bangs behind an ear, trying and failing to suppress an amused smile. “Danny, I know this might kinda fly in the face of what you’ve been doing, but for this whole deal, when we do concerts it was made pretty clear that they want you performing with me. Like, you can have a guitar or a violin or something, but not really what you’re used to. Plus, I think it’d help bring us together. Build that synergy, you know?”

“That’s funny, because we’re usually pretty close when we—”

“You haven’t changed, have you, _chica_?”

Oh God. I knew that voice anywhere. I knew that _accent_ anywhere. And when I turned around, the Betty Paige look alike in all her glory that I remembered from just a few years ago hit me with a wave of unexpectedly wanted nostalgia and a fuzzy warmth burbling in my breast. Carla Romero hadn’t changed I bit since I’d last seen her, still the raven-haired beauty with a tan as perfect as her eyebrows.

“Carla? Holy shit! What are you doing here?” I said as I bounded over to her and engulfed her in a hug. It wasn’t like with Linus. We’d dated before, having to split up due to her being unable to sustain a long-distance relationship, but had remained friends. I was overjoyed to see a familiar face besides my aunt from Rio.

“I moved up the ranks. Say hello to Los Angeles’ hottest Latin dance teacher and part-time choreographer for the stars.” It just dawned on me that Carla had been a dance instructor on the last few seasons of Dancing with the Stars, her pupils bagging some high-profile wins. My heart fluttered more over the fact that I still felt attracted to her. Crazy, right?

Sam cleared his throat, I slammed with self-consciousness at remembering that he was still there. The secret boyfriend no one was supposed to know about and here I was, macking up an old flame. Whoops? “You two know each other?”

“Yup,” Carla replied with a grin, cocking a hip and slinging an arm around my neck. “We dated back in the day.” I couldn’t help but blush at her ribald admission.

Sam nodded enigmatically, but I’d be lying if his cool cucumber persona he’d perfected wasn’t making me anxious. It’s not like I could just up and tell Carla, either. I needed to put heads together with Sam before we did, what with our situation being volatile until people forgot Linus’ little hate-boner for me and Sam, by extension.

Instead of displaying anything outwardly negative, he flashed us a winning, salesperson smile. “Carla Romero, right? Nice to meet a friend of Danny’s. I’m Samuel Williams, but you probably knew that,” he introduced with a laugh, striding towards us and thrusting his hand for Carla to shake. Meanwhile, I was nervously overanalyzing every move Samuel made, feeling high-strung and a little stressed. I couldn’t tell what was and wasn’t a professional front with him.

Carla smirked and released me, moving to reciprocate the action, pumping his hand firmly. “Nice to know our mutual friend has been in good hands. Hopefully she hasn’t caused too much trouble around here? I mean, I saw her vlogs and stuff.” When they withdrew, I felt my heart climb up my throat.

“Oh, that,” Sam said, sucking in a breath and chuckling tensely. “Yeah, just some drama. Nothing we haven’t handled. We’re focusing on our collaboration album right now. Not guys who can’t let things go. Especially of people who were never theirs to begin with.” He gave me a pointed look, and I froze. Carla speculatively glanced my way, squinting somewhat, even daring a cursory look at Sam. She smirked, and I knew that look. It was her piecing things together and I knew that didn’t mean so great for me. Yeah, let the chick with an anxiety disorder get nerve wracked over nothing. Bril idea, guv!

“So, uh—what about the dance practice and shit?” I interjected, trying and likely failing to throw them both off that trail. Sam kept that enigmatic smile plastered on his face as he leisurely strode over to my side and stood to face Carla, hand reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. His gaze was almost dreamy as he did, a hint of affection in his smile. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle!

“Carla, seeing as it’s only the three of us here, can I offer you some friendly advice?” Sam said suddenly, the gravitas of it much more serious than it had been a moment ago. He didn’t lift his gaze away from me, a cold sweat erupting on the nape of my neck, hands becoming much clammier. I felt like a goddamn powder keg. “I had to deal with the fallout of bullshit from Danny’s last ex. I don’t need it from another. I appreciate that you’re helping out with this, but I’d like to keep things professional. If you have any personal baggage, I’d highly suggest unloading it now.”

Contrary to whatever he thought, Carla broke his machismo with a grin splitting her red lips like a tomcat. “Oh my god, I knew it! You guys are totally together!” This caused Samuel’s bravado to deflate, but she continued unheeded. “Look, Mr. Williams, I’m not sure what hetero love triangle bullshit you were expecting, but it’s cool. Seriously, I already have a girlfriend and fiancé-to-be and Danny and I are good friends. No saboteur crap to worry about, promise.”

I was taken aback, flushing hard at this point. Thank god my complexion didn’t show it as obviously. “…She’s right. Sammy, I’ve known Carla for years. There’s nothing to worry about, pinkie promise?” To prove my point, I yanked him close for a quick kiss, which earned a shy smile from him. “See? Told you!”

“You know, for a couple of hets, you guys are kinda cute. In a dopey way, of course,” Carla quipped, her smile wide enough to make the Cheshire cat proud. “Anyway, not-love triangle stuff aside, mind if we get to the lessons? I’ve got UST to build between you two for shits and giggles.” Good old Carla.

She flounced over to the sound system she hooked her iPod up to, fiddling through a list of ballroom samba music. I had to admit, it got my foot tapping. I shyly watched as Sam didn’t even hesitate, his very stance changing with the music. Even though he was sold on his concept for our album, it ran deeper than that. He stood, poised, raising his hands to the side to clap his hands in time with the rhythm and on a foot crossed behind his ankle, tapped his foot in tandem. His expression was completely concentrated, and I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his movements, poised as a ballet dancer but bearing so much passion.

From what I’d known while living in Rio, having seen Flamenco dance, was that it took years of training to perfect. But there he was, defying convention alone and using his arms and feet in syncopation that flowed like a river with the music. Carla’s smile grew as she began clapping along, admittedly earning a smile from Samuel that broke his air for a moment, but not negatively.

It was when he was dancing towards me that got me flushing an internal scarlet, heart climbing in my throat for another reason. You know when you’re around a guy who can really smolder? It was exactly what he was doing and I was frozen on the spot, he offering a hand, a smirk, and a come hither gaze.

Admittedly, I cracked an awkward laugh, averting my eyes. “Uh, you don’t expect me to just go out on the dance floor knowing what to do, right?” I asked, flashing my gaze sidelong at Carla for help.

“We’ll take it slow, Danny,” Sam assured me, even if the intensity of his stare remained. He knew me. I knew I could trust him.

Offering him my hand, he took it and ghosted his lips on my knuckles. I felt just slightly more confident, drawn into his arms as he perched another hand on the small of my back and balanced mine on his, the quintessential closed position.

“Alright, lovebirds, before you descend into some hot mess, time I did my thing.” In the intimacy of our proximity, I almost forgot Carla was there, proverbially rescuing me from his smolder. “I’m going to film this, hang on a sec— Though, no worries about sound. This is so you can watch it later and improve upon your technique.” To my attention, I hadn’t noticed the camera. Set up at the front of the dance room, capturing a view of our flanks. Wait, did that mean me staring at him had made it on there from the brief Flamenco routine? “I’ll e-mail you the footage after.”

Come to think of it, San James probably wouldn’t mind it if I posted little sneak peaks of today’s lesson on my vlogging channel. Little sneak peek never hurt, right? Sam’s own VEVO was already hosting samples of the previews, much like my main. Moreover, it would help with this whole slow burn Ponzi scheme of ours. Plus, I could always edit out the really incriminating stuff, right?

“Hey, Carla?” I asked out of the blue, the music continuing while Sam politely stopped. “Um…with all this, can you keep Sam and I a secret? I mean, it’s cool if you like—insinuate stuff, since we’re kinda gunning for a slow burn, it’s just that right now I really can’t afford some… I dunno, rabid assholes sabotaging what we’re just beginning to put together.”

I swear, it’s like Carla just knows and I don’t have to tell her anything. Striding over towards me, she engulfed me in a huge hug. She knew. I didn’t have to say anything, but she knew I was going through a lot. That I was more stressed than I let on and dealing with what felt like what than I could handle.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, chica. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Without even prompting, I felt Sam’s arms envelop over us both, leaning in his direction as our cheeks nuzzled together.

“You too, Williams. I have a lot of respect for guys like you and if Danny is set on you, then I know you’re a good guy. You both deserve it.” I could feel Sammy smile in relief.

“Thank you, honestly.”


	6. Chapter 6

Warning(s): T, none

* * *

I hated that sensation. The one where it’s 3 AM and you suddenly awake up with your nerves hollowed out into some Jack-‘o-lantern of dread. Like anticipation, except you’re in a horror movie and you know what’s coming. Your hackles raise and there’s some monster or serial killer under the bed or in the closet, and you can just feel it.

Except, it wasn’t a killer. After a few moments of blinking away the sleepiness, mingling with how adrenalized I felt, I grope beside me for Sam’s form only to find it absent. I don’t know why, but I acted on that shot of panic. Springing from the bed and tossing back the sheets, I stumbled out of Sam’s ornate master bedroom in only my boxer shorts and tank top, heart hammering in my throat.

“Sam?”

From the second floor gallery that overlooked the open-air living room, all I could see was Sam’s sleepless silhouette outlined by the cold light cast from the enormous flatscreen TV, he seated on a plush leather ottoman and even from here I could see the blank and fearful stare he gave the screen. Transfixed, but with a mute horror I could feel in palpable waves.

I stopped when I focused on the TV itself, the news anchor diminished as a side screen dominated the view, showing a picture of a young African-American girl, maybe ten or so years old, maybe a preteen.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, in light of an anonymous tip, the twenty-five year old case of Samantha Baxter has finally been reopened. Hailing from the prestigious Baxter dynasty of African-American circus acrobats, for almost a decade Samantha was at the zenith of her fame alongside her parents as they performed amazing feats of acrobatics from the trapeze above and for audiences around the world. Revolutionizing the modern circus into what it is today, when Samantha’s parents died in a shocking accident and America’s flying darling disappeared, rumors flew as to what had become of the globally famous star.”_

I couldn’t just hang back like that. By the way Sam didn’t hear my descent, I knew what was going on: dysphoria, and by the looks of it, a pretty bad episode of it.

“Hey, you’re alright. It’s okay,” I murmured soothingly as I cradled him close to my chest, stroking digits through his coily black locks and feeling him relax a little as he nuzzled into my bosom and sighed deeply, wrapping his arms around my ribcage and pressing against my sternum.

“They’re gonna find out, Danny. They’re on to me, I can feel it,” he confessed, and I could feel him trembling. It tore me apart inside that this was all I could do for him.

Words froze in my throat as I watched the news report more, going deeper into Sam’s life as a kid. It was stark, seeing who he’d been, and it felt…alienating. I couldn’t just chalk it up to being an empathetic response, either. Samantha was his dead name. He stopped being Samantha a long time ago. Maybe, I thought, it would be a dead end. A slow news day where they tossed whatever was on to fill an otherwise empty block of time. It happened, even though this felt planned and premeditated.

I’d be lying if morbid fascination didn’t enrapture me. Rubbing soothing circles in his back, if I had any sense, I would’ve turned off the TV and said, to hell with it. That it’d be inconclusive. Thing is, the more I stared at Samantha Baxter, the more I could see Sam. Like she could be his younger sister. And Sam was too famous not to take it into consideration. With this being aired, some people would connect the dots. And in the hay day of social media we were in, it wouldn’t be hard for a single tweet or video to go viral.

I swear, it felt like glass shattering when the commercial break came on.

Sam withdrew himself from my embrace, beginning to pace the kitchen. “We have to leave, Danny. Thing is, we have an alibi. An easy cover story. Right? We can go overseas, maybe to Spain or some unknown place on the Mediterranean. A place with a recording studio. Say we’re out of the alpha phase and ready to begin real production for awhile.”

“Sam…” God, my mind was still processing all this, let alone catching up with everything he was saying. True, he was strategic and extremely business savvy. You didn’t make it far in the business by being stupid, that much was obvious. Meanwhile, I felt like a greenhorn seeing as my experience hadn’t been in the business end for long at all. I raked a hand through my choppy locks, trying to get a grip with reality.

“I’ll call David. Tell him to set us up with a 5 AM flight at the latest to Spain. You can get ready that quick, right, Danny? Safiya can meet us there later, or—you could just stick with me. They seemed like good friends and all.”

“Hey, Sam—” That’s what finally caught him, my expression constrained, and probably rightly so. “Just…with all this. You don’t think turning tail now is a little suspect?”

Sam perched a hand on his hip, gazing sidelong. He looked stressed, but not angry. “It would still be if I did a week from now, Danny. But, I don’t know when these people are gonna drop _that_. We don’t know if they’ve got everything in the sack, or this isn’t some… _tabloid_ investigation by some hotshot journalist. I don’t like unpredictability, boo, I really don’t. If we’d left a month ago, they’d say the same thing. I’d really rather not be here either way.” He took pause, folding his arms and gazing at me with imploring eyes. God, I was so fucking weak to his eyes.

“…It’s one thing if I’d done this on my own. I transitioned at a time when people thought transgender people were just freakish drag queens, Danny. It’s only recently people started looking at us like we’re people, not exotic fetishes. Yeah, things have gotten better, but—there’s still a lot of prejudice out there. And as a transman, I’m not obligated to come out as someone’s feel-good story. Or to be on the ass-end on some racist redneck’s vitriol. I’m a person, not a political statement. And I should have the right to come out whenever I damn well please. This… It’s not it. That’s not dignity, or respect. It’s disrespectful and dehumanizing, if I have to be honest.”

He came towards me and rested his brow on mine, exhaling deeply. Sammy was right. Though I felt a guilty lump clump in my throat, this was all the absolution I wanted. We’re still coming to understand each other, even now. And I, more than anything, didn’t want to fuck this up. Especially over something that had largely been unknown territory until very recently. I wound my arms around his neck and we rocked a little, like in a dance.

“Danny, if it came down to out, if I really had to disappear until things blew over, would you come with me?”

I blinked at him, like it was the most rhetorical question in the world. “Yeah, I would. You don’t even have to ask.”

Sammy nodded, heaving in a breath, doe brown eyes flickering down. “What if I had to give a reason for that? Why we’d disappear like that?”

I swallowed thickly. “Sammy—”

“What if we eloped?”

It was like a window shattered in my head somewhere. Except, it wasn’t out of horror or disgust. As I picked the pieces of my mind together, a million thoughts raced through my mind. What woman my age hadn’t thought of settling down? I was twenty-five, after all. Even though I hadn’t an abundance of relationships, a lot of me knew what Sammy and I had felt like it’d be in for the long run. I just hadn’t fathomed how long haul, of where Sammy stood on it.

Slowly I let my embrace on Sammy retreat, holding my arm like some kid about to be admonished by their parent. Sam looked at me wide-eyed, anticipating like he was ready to flinch away, retreating into his shell. “Sam…”

He smiled grimly, looking pained. “Yeah, I know, it’s a crazy plan—”

“Sam, please listen.” Sam looked at me expectantly, but gingerly. “Look, I know—I’m new to this. I get Hollywood moves fast. I’m starting to learn that relationships with us aren’t like they are with normal people, that moving fast is just the norm. I get it, I do. But…Sammy, I can’t say yes in these circumstances. Something that big can’t be a smokescreen. It just can’t.”

Fuck. I started to feel tears bead in my eyes, pricking, swallowing thickly again while they shone and nothing I could do would stop it. The words just came like water boiling over. “I’ve never thought of spending the rest of my life with someone, getting married— Not seriously. But, you know—God… I’ve thought about it with you. When we’re asleep, and it’s quiet, and the sun hasn’t come up? Yeah. I’ve thought to myself, that’s someone I could spend the rest of my life with.” I felt like an idiot, for supplanting his situation with something that felt like out of a cheap nickelback. I sniffled loudly, indecorously, so I made a beeline into the kitchen for a tissue and blew my nose.

I folded my arms, feeling small. Regardless of my reservations, I leaned back when I felt Sammy’s arms wind around my waist, holding me close and kissing the nape of my neck tenderly. “I’m sorry, Danny. You’re right.” We were both quiet, but at an impasse. A good one, I hoped. “If the news breaks, I’ll come out. I’ll say something. I won’t run away.”

I turned my face to nuzzle against his cheek, feeling him press back. “Maybe when things calm down a bit, when we’ve got the album out and all, I’ll do it. I’ll really ask you to marry me. Danny Gray. I mean it.”

Choking on what sounded like a happy sob, I threw my arms around his neck and we held each other impossibly close, the sun beginning to crest the horizon and brighten into the kitchen.

“I’d like that. More than anything, Sammy.”

* * *

We slept for a few more hours, but it felt different waking up, this time. Marriage. Twenty-five was like the new fifteen; old enough to know better and expected to have some grip on life, but not necessarily to marry. Awhile ago, that would’ve made me an old maid. I guess in my defense, Sammy was thirty-five—maybe pushing thirty-six—but our age difference was modest compared to old men who married 20-something Playboy bunnies. That was the norm in Hollywood and stopped being a spectator sport. But, our relationships were a lot like zoo exhibitions, I realized. Maybe it was good we’d held out on keeping secret, because albums could take months to produce. Even if you were surrounded by married couples who wed faster than a trip to Vegas, it was normal. Placid. Six months was the normies’ minimum, I think. Turtle pace, in Hollywood times.

Thank God this flight was going to be so long, because I think I needed the hours of downtime trying to digest all this. A big part of me demanded something between pinches and long sit downs with Sammy to make sure it wasn’t just a bluff, that the engagement idea hadn’t been conceived from smokescreen.

Sit downs. Settling down. Was that what we were doing?

“Danny, do you have everything?”

In the basement level of the apartment complex, garage level, it was only 4 AM and I was dog-tired. Maybe that could justify my energy drink-fueled morning lunacy. My brain had settled on the most recent topic, even though nothing about it felt real, yet.

“Mm, oh—yeah, sorry.” The home staff buzzed as they checked and rechecked the itineraries, stowing our bags in a huge SUV. Predictably, Sam had more things than I did which had been compounded in a few duffle bags’ worth of stuff. Still rocking the Goodwill chic, I didn’t exactly have to press and launder my clothes like he did. Almost everything he wore was designer. He was more into fashion than I was, and part of me wondered if a wardrobe and makeover wouldn’t be in store.

Sammy smiled comforting smile, making me blush like a goddamn schoolgirl. When Lars informed us that we were all packed and ready to go, I stopped using my carry-on as an impromptu stool and we both ducked inside the spacious and dark SUV and drove off into early traffic.

I must’ve fallen asleep, because when I awoke a little while later in a daze, the broad and flat expanse of a runway yawned before us from the mouth of an airplane hanger. Commercial Boeing-747s stood in martial rank and file around us, a sleek black private jet with idling engines and a lowered gangway waited enticingly. I’d been asleep on Sammy’s shoulder, his arm around me, when I groggily stepped outside holding his hand and rubbing my eye with the free one like a sleepy child.

“Mr. Williams, Ms. Grey, are you all ready to go?”

Stopped in our tracks, I saw a handsome black woman with a midnight onyx complexion that waited for us, in a smart sable suit and fedora crowned atop her closely trimmed afro. Her heels clicked as she smiled welcomingly, ushering us aboard.

However, while I began to say hello back, Sam stopped dead and was gaping at the woman incredulously. “Connie?” he inquired softly, watching as the woman’s expression changed from a professional calm to that of disbelief.

“Sam—” There was a heartfelt note in her voice, feeling a prickle of something significant. Clearing her throat and swallowing down whatever had been welling up, she urged us towards the plane. “We’ll be leaving in ten minutes. Please, we’ll be able to speak more once inside. I’ll be checking with the pilot to ensure we’ll be leaving without delay.”

I wasn’t sure who that woman was, aside from the apparent nickname and Spanish accent, but I had no time to ask as Sam led me aboard with me in tow. “Sammy, who was that?” Part of me prickled with the fear she’d been an old flame or something, but I wanted to wait until he told me before jumping to conclusions.

“She’s my cousin, Danny.”

I think that was supposed to be significant, but the weight was lost on me in my early morning haze. “Okay?”

Sighing once we sat down on some plush couches, he ran a hand through his cascading bangs. “Danny, I haven’t been connected with either side of my family since I disappeared over fifteen years ago. Connie… Her real name is Constanza Harris, and my mom’s side of the family is Sudanese. Technically she’s Sudanese-American, but she used to live in Spain with my uncle. …She disappeared a couple years ago, too, and just seeing her now…”

Now it hit me like a brick, chastising myself for being so dense. It was complicated on both sides. “No-brainer that she doesn’t know you’d transitioned, right?” Sam nodded and I grew quiet, wondering what would unfold. Honestly, the initial idea I had of her being an old flame seemed so uncomplicated compared to two long lost family members reuniting in unison. Which…if we got married, that would make us in-laws.

Pretty sure ‘It’s a Small World’ was going off somewhere.

_“Please fasten your seatbelts. We will be leaving shortly.”_

I started upon hearing her voice on the intercom before it cut off and the usual pre-flight drone peddled through the usual flight procedures. So, she was co-pilot? Part of me was secretly relieved, because I had a feeling we’d be in for a long talk once we got off. And I was too tired to be the potential medium between reunited family members.

I was happy for him, though. Even if I had no idea what his family situation was like beforehand, watching old reruns of his performances made it seem like he really loved his mother and father, even if he didn’t know what had been going on, then. With his gender identity, and all. Maybe I was jumping the gun and making assumptions, but I don’t know where I’d be without my family, especially after my parents died and Aunty had been the one to take me in. I loved her more than anything, and I could only hope that whatever had happened years ago could be resolved and that Sammy might be a little less lonely.

As we rolled out on the tarmac, I slumped back a little and coaxed Sammy into my arms. Though he’d seemed awake before, wrapping an arm around my middle and nestling close on my collar and neck, it barely took his five minutes as we taxied out onto the runway for him to fall fast asleep with my fingers carding through his hair.

It would be a long flight, anyways. We could talk more, then.


	7. Chapter 7

Warning(s): M, some sexual content/allusions

* * *

It would be several hours before we awoke again, halfway across the country towards the East Coast where we’d fuel up before a headlong flight across the Atlantic. Now that I thought about it, I was heading home—in a way. Born and raised in Greece, it had been my home from when I was born until I was ten, until I moved to Brazil to live with my aunt in Rio. I was somewhere between feeling a comforting sense of nostalgia because of how similar Spain was to Brazil, to a tingly sort of excitement at continuing our album, to a fierce pit of dread at everything being so unexpected.

A soft pinging sounded and my sleepy daze was broken by fully awaking and seeing Connie sitting in a seat across from us, startling some despite how she was benignly typing away at her laptop, the staccato soft and almost inaudible. My stirring awoke Sammy who cracked an eye open, lazily focused on me before the sight of his cousin made him rouse awake.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she asked gingerly, wincing slightly despite the lack of any real transgression.

“If seeing family after so long means I don’t sleep another wink, I think I’d be okay with it, Connie,” Sam admitted as he straightened, shaking out his hair that had been crushed to my chest. He tucked some errant ringlets behind an ear, sitting up while I emulated him. Though, his initial cheer dimmed sadly. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, don’t I?”

“You wouldn’t be alone in that, Sammy. I think we do in equal measure.”

I sat pensively, my eyes darting between the two of them. When Sam took notice of my slight discomfiture, I knew I couldn’t keep quiet. “Look…I know this is tough for you both, but—do you want me to leave? I mean…fifteen years is a lot to catch up on. Privacy wouldn’t be so bad, right?” I offered with a sheepish smile. It wasn’t like I resented what was going on, feeling out of the loop. It was too complicated and overarching, and it’d be completely childish of me to contend with people who hadn’t seen each other in literal decades.

Sammy looked to his cousin, the woman’s lips pursing indecisively, but she looked sure after but a moment. “You mean a lot to him, Danny. I’d like to think maybe this means I can start seeing you as family, too.” I felt something large and hot and tender lodge itself in my throat, sitting down complacently. I smiled, gratefully, at Connie who returned it—but it was strained. Probably because what Sam had to tell would be new to us both.

While that eliminated the worst of any tension, a cloud of expectation and sheer nerves misted over us all. It was a story I hadn’t heard before, save for what everyone knew. A tale that was Sam’s to tell because he trusted the two of us.

Something I’d never, ever take for granted. I made myself swear it.

“It was chaotic, what happened. You know, after the accident. The fire. Everyone thought I’d died in those flames, trapped in that damn labyrinth where all the dressing rooms are. So, I let them believe it. Like Samantha Baxter was gone that day. Except, I wasn’t. I disappeared for awhile. I mean, a long while. I had a girlfriend keep my stuff, and she gave what I needed. I rationalized it as just disguise, you know? Chopping off my hair, wearing baggy clothes and sneakers. Wearing whatever I could improvise to really flatten my chest. See, back then, probably until real recently, being trans was just seen as a mental illness. And I believed it for so damn long, too. Until this transgender woman took me in after I found work bussing tables at a gay bar. She told me what was up, and everything made sense for the first time in my life. She was like a mom to me, you know? Her name was Simone. Simone Daniels.” He paused to smile fondly at the memory while Connie and I both were enraptured, spellbound. His gaze dropped self-consciously, but Connie’s hand on his shoulder coaxed him to continue. “She got me started on hormone therapy, and after a few years, I started singing. I got discovered not long after I was able to get top surgery. Lemme tell you, it was like nothing else. Singing in the club, then rocketed back up to the big times.”

“I knew it!” Connie chimed in agreement, grinning grandly at him. “You always were singing at family get-togethers, Sammy. You should’ve seen him, Danny, he was the cutest.” She gently jostled her cousin, the man laughing shyly but still basking in their coupled warmth. I couldn’t help but feel happiness flutter in my chest for them.

“Well, guess we might get time to do that, huh?” I couldn’t help but add. This could be mournful, almost. Easily, in the wake of so much tragedy. But, this? I liked hope so much better.

A lapse fell over us again. One where Sammy was compelled to continue. At the very least, he didn’t look as beleaguered as this all could’ve been. And I was grateful for that. I didn’t want him to feel that way ever again. “…It just went from there. Lotta ups and downs before I came to the top.” Too much to really tell, right? Sammy glanced at Connie, a certain heaviness in his eyes. “I still miss them so damn bad. Mom and Pop. They were good people, you know? The best.”

Part of me stung with a wish that I’d known them, that I could do more than commiserate on the loss of my own parents. Like it was a part of his life I was missing. That I couldn’t be totally there for him because I’d never meet his parents, or he, mine. It hurt. I felt my eyes misting over, trying to bite my lip. I couldn’t make this about me, even if I didn’t intend on it.

“…Sammy, what if I told you that they’re not gone?” We both looked up at Connie in unison, shock registered clearly on our faces. Hers was severe but concerned. Sam looked the most moved of us.

“Wait, you mean— Connie, what do you mean?” Sam asked in a soft and broken disbelief, his voice cracking. I pursed my lips worriedly for him, taking one of his hands in mine that he gripped automatically like it was a lifesaver.

“They’re alive, Sammy. But—that’s all I know,” she replied with a muted emotion, something churning inside of her I couldn’t make heads or tails out of. “I’m sorry.”

Sam was silent for a long moment, free hand covering his mouth in shock as he stared, transfixed, at the ground. Connie and I exchanged looks, but through the droning hum of the cabin, he found his voice again soon enough. “…Is it connected? You coming back and all?” he inquired softly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

Connie’s lips pursed, and she looked pained. “I can’t say. It’s…confidential. I’m sorry, Sammy. But the truth will be uncovered, I promise.” She reached across to take Sammy’s hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, he smiling reluctantly but genuinely. “Besides, with your European tour you’ll be really busy, won’t you?”

Though I hated to interrupt the heartfelt moment, this caused me to perk up. “Wait, tour?” I echoed which grabbed their attention in messy fistfuls. It broke apart the melancholy somewhat, unsure if that was a good thing or not.

Constanza straightened up, glancing quizzically at Sam with searching eyes. “Oh, you didn’t tell her, Sammy?” She glanced back at me, fathomless brown eyes warming. “Remember when he was away for a little more than a week? It’s a tour to promote his _Outrun_ album. You know, the most recent one he dropped?”

I suddenly felt very stupid at how much more sense that made than just bouncing across the Atlantic to escape a sensationalist story. Sometimes I forgot that Sam was one of the world’s most famous pop stars. He couldn’t just hole himself away in his room composing music for his Aunt to post on Youtube in proxy. “I— …Sorry. Shoot, I kinda forgot it was still going on. With all the crap with Linus and— Nevermind,” I rambled before shutting myself off.

Sam smiled wryly. “And to think, the Outrun Tour is gonna be even busier. We’re going all over Europe and it’s gonna get pretty insane. I don’t think I had a tour this crazy since the late 80’s, at least.” Shit. It was times like these I forgot that Samuel was almost twice my age, doing crazy awesome things before I was even out of diapers.

And to think I had underwhelming expectations of what we’d really be doing.

But, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “So, few days in one place, then we bounce? And I’m guessing you’ll be insanely busy, right, Sammy?” I tried not to show it, but a puerile kind of conspiracy began churning in my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I adored Sammy. To bits and pieces. But to say I’d be willing to appear 24/7 before cameras and be on stage while being barred in my hotel room in my downtime because of the chaotic unpredictability of fans was a lie.

I’d do just about anything for Sammy, but even I had my limits.

“Yeah, that’s basically it. Looks like I’ll have to find movies to watch in between stuff,” Sam said with a weary laugh, looking strained already. He curled his pinkie around mine. “I might not be able to spend that much time with you, Danny—I’m sorry. I should’ve mentioned it. Connie might be able to, though. Especially since we gotta keep this a secret and all.”

Sweet Jesus, this was too good to be true. Connie’s eyes darted to mine and I could tell her thoughts probably echoed mine, at least. A couple of European-born ladies back on home soil? It was like locking a sugar addict in a candy store. “I’ll keep both eyes on her, Sammy. At least, when I’m not working.” He missed her wide grin, which I was tempted to match—were it not for the fact that the man left out of it was right next to us.

“Actually, I kinda wanted to ask: Danny, while you’re here, would you maybe…wanna play in a few concerts? Give you an idea of what it’s like? It’d be awful good experience.” With the look of boyish hope in his eyes, I felt my chest ache tenderly, indecisively. “Nothing in the spotlight, but you’d have your first pick of instrument, backup vocals—whatever.”

Without even much deliberation I knew that vocals might be off the table, since mine were somewhat recognizable. And from what I’d seen of his concerts, little as they were, the plane elevated somewhat off the stage where the musicians played tended not to be a focal point. Not to mention, above my nervousness that wanted to dig its heels in and give some half-hearted, dead end answer, curiosity was louder and very much in a cat-killing mood.

“If any of your keyboardists or guitarists want the night off, you know where to find me,” I said with a keen smile, tempted to almost wink at him. The smile of relief that broke out on his alleviated whatever trepidation I was feeling.

Connie clapped her hand on my back, causing me to jolt in surprise that Sammy laughed at. “Break a leg, kid. Also, we’re going to be landing soon. We’ll stretch our legs during layover, but then it’s off to Barcelona.”

That fact alone caused my heart to rocket into my chest.

* * *

For the rest of the flight, Sam almost instantly conked out and slept so deeply I was almost afraid it meant something bad, but with everything that had happened I knew he probably needed to process everything in his dreams. That gave me the chance to fiddle around with several old songs I exhumed from the depths of my archives, making them all gussied up and polished to send off to Aunty to be published, even though I was trying my hand at it, too. What resulted was at least three old songs from my high school days to throw in the queue for the next week as per my sporadic upload schedule.

It kept me busy for the next seven plus hours, at least. The flight duration had promised to be no longer than seven hours and fifteen minutes. Bearable, thank God.

Constanza had since retreated a little towards the steerage of the plane in a private segment of it to make calls among other things. I could hear the din of her voice, but nothing was intelligible, followed by long lapses of near silence I knew was probably spent typing.

From what I overheard from one of the gossipy attendants was that Sam’s entire personal entourage was coming along with Connie among their ranks now, despite her motives not entirely revolving around him. Not even close. Even so, it dawned on me how many people were involved. It was rumored to be dozens as their flight had preceded ours by a day. And to think, for the months we’d known each other, I was still barely cognizant of the scope of his fame and everything it entailed. I had a feeling I’d be in for a major culture shock once the plane landed and reality hit like a freight train.

Maybe an hour before we were due to land, somewhere over Portugal, Connie emerged from the lounging area and shut the door with a soft click behind her. Setting aside my laptop, I found my seat on an easy chair across from the long, white leather couch Sammy had claimed as his bed. I was barely able to suppress my smile when he uttered a soft, disturbed sound upon awakening and blinked owlishly at her, then me. My head dipped shyly, wanting to be mushy despite how improper it felt before Constanza.

“I have an itinerary Mr. Martinez and I put together, Sammy. You might want to look it over. You’ll have tonight to rest since we’re coming in late, but tomorrow morning is a press conference, photoshoot with Vogue Spain, another with Mad Mode, and an interview followed by rehearsals that will take up the rest of the night. And that’s just the first day. We’ve got the concert on Thursday and Saturday, before leaving for France.”

Sammy whistled low at the schedule, puffing air through his bangs. “God, I almost forgot how much these tours make us do, and this is just the first leg. From here to the end of August, man. Three month tour.” He laughed weakly, raking a hand through his coily hair.

“Whoa, three months? And we’re basically moving between cities every week? Damn,” I marveled but was still excited for. Still, something niggled at the back of my mind. “…We got any in Greece?” I don’t know why I asked it, but I did. It was too late to retract, at least.

Connie, not quite aware of the implications, replied without missing a beat. “Yes, one. Well, two, technically. We have one in Athens and in the Greek part of Cyprus, don’t ask me which island.”

I nodded obliquely. So, I was going home? The idea gave me mixed feelings, that much was certain.

We resumed the journey in relative silence, Sammy coaxing me to the couch and wrapped his arms around me once Connie moved towards the front to likely speak with one of the pilots. I embraced him back, feeling him sigh ruefully. “Man, three months and we might not be able to be all that close. I’m gonna go crazy, Danny, I can feel it. I don’t even think we’ll be allowed to share a room,” Sammy lamented while resting our brows together, deep brown gaze penetrating through mine. I stroked his hair and kissed his brow.

“Hey, we’ll make it work out, somehow. Maybe I can learn some super secret espionage stuff from Connie so I can sneak in, or something,” I joked with a chuckle, this causing him to sigh dramatically and nuzzle his way against my neck. “…I’ll figure something out. Promise.”

“Promise,” he agreed with a soft smile, tilting my chin towards his face to plant a soft kiss on my lips. Except, something deep was stirring in his eyes. He moved to my jaw, my breathing becoming heavier when he descended to my neck and plotted kisses along my throat. My skin burned from the contact, descending to my clavicle and slipping a strap of my tank top off my shoulder, trailing kisses on the curve of my shoulder and leaning his weight on me that made me flush profusely. However, when the pilot’s voice on the intercom announced that we’d be landing at Borcelona International in ten minutes or less, he grunted in frustration, breath hot on my skin. “God, this is gonna really push us, isn’t it?”

I was still too enraptured to speak at first, dizzy from the heat before I snapped myself from it. “Huh? Oh, yeah,” I agreed hastily, swallowing thickly. He lifted his head and his expression was pure smugness, me poking my tongue out at him. “You’re a scoundrel. Leaving poor little me hanging like this.”

Before he could reply with something else salacious, Constanza walked in and we jolted apart like we’d been stung by a cattle prod in unison. He coughed awkwardly while I hastily pulled my tank top’s strap back on my shoulder despite how damning it was. Connie was nice enough to feign ambivalence, at least.

“You two ready? Oh, Danny—you’ll be staying with me. We’re renting a floor at Castello Royale during our stay, just so you two know. Is that alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” I assured once I’d gotten my wits about me again, swallowing down whatever brief mortification there was.

This really was it, wasn’t it?

* * *

We got off at Barcelona International with no small amount of zeal, the flashbulbs of dozens of cameras going off the moment Sammy disembarked. I’d gotten off earlier with Connie so no one would suspect anything.

That was, until a small party of men in suits and a few notable ones in _thwab_ —long, white robes worn to the ankles—came from another jet near us. Their heads were crowned with _Ghutrah_ —white cotton headdresses a part of a keffiyeh worn a veil that framed their faces nobly, and kept there by an _Agal_ , a thick band worn around the head to keep the Ghutrah in place. While it wasn’t uncommon for two private flights to land in the same vicinity of each other, this was different. So, so much different.

“Uncle Ahamd!” This drew the attention of a stocky man leading the party, lips tugging into a smile behind a long, salt and pepper beard while warm eyes brightened with familiarity as I practically ran up to the man, Safiya’s brother. Who’d have thought I’d encounter them here, of all places?

Samuel, Connie, and those who had sojourned with us watched on in bemusement as I dashed up to my uncle and was subsequently engulfed in a tight hug that reminded me instantly of warm summers spent in Algiers with my family. He laughed heartily despite his men’s initial confusion, releasing me and placing a warm hand on my shoulder. “Gentlemen, though I hadn’t expected this, allow me to introduce you to my niece, Danielle. Ah, what luck you were brought here!” Many tripped over themselves to bow towards me despite my insisting they didn’t, but—well, Algeria’s royal family was kind of a big deal.

I felt a stare bore through my head, glancing back and seeing Samuel’s features drawn together in confusion. I felt my initial giddiness dive back into my throat, remembering: neither of them knew who I really was, who I was related to. It was like the flight peeled back away all the layers of secrecy we’d been keeping from each other.

“I’m on tour with my friends. I’m in a band, and—yeah. Did Aunty Safiya tell you anything at all?” I inquired, canting my head up at him.

“I don’t think so, but we must have dinner sometime. I’ll get into contact with her and then my secretary shall call yours, hm? We’ll have much to speak of, but for now I must go, little lamb.” I beamed at the old endearment he called me as a kid, giving me a final hug. “Tell your friends I said hello.”

As I waved them off, the initial shock died down and I was greeted with Sammy’s presence that threw off the wave of nostalgia. I gave him a small smile, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah, the Algerian prince, um—he’s my uncle. Sorry I didn’t say so before.” I shouldn’t have to feel awkward. We’d thrown each other worse curve balls before, right?

Hence my relief when I heard an airy laugh.

“At least I can call you princess and mean it, right?” I glanced up at him and his sunny, bright smile that banished any cloud that thought of forming over our heads. It was like dropping a weight from my shoulders. For the most part, at least.

“Don’t get used to it, bud,” I simpered back, the pair of us laughing among ourselves. It was private, almost. Like being tucked inside a sunroom while the world outside was oblivious beyond a garden. Something sunny and vibrant, like him.

“Come on, you two! I’m bushed and I hear the hotel we’re renting out is pretty ritzy. Coming?” Connie goaded with a smile as she climbed in the passenger side of an armored, black SUV that Lars was driving. Well, she had a point.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” I crowed before we broke into sprints towards the car. I won, but Sammy was barely a hair behind me that we almost tumbled in.

* * *

I remember reading somewhere that people often wanted sex after a funeral. I think it had something to do with how death scorched people’s biological urges, how a death was like a crop. Almost as mad as how anger and other fits of emotional passion made sex their muse, their outlet.

Maybe that’s what explained the text Sammy sent me at midnight, long after everyone had consigned themselves to sleep. It was simple, but I could feel the cloying through the text on the screen. So, when I thought the coast was clear, I took the card key Sammy had secretly slipped me hours before and emerged from my room on the floor of the hotel we were occupying in the Gothic Quarter. And it was beautiful: soft golden light from ivory sconces warmly lit the summery, whitewashed interior that looked like something out of a fairytale. My shadow silhouetted on the lime green walls, sneakier than I was trying to be. Lucky me, sentries were posted on all accessible areas to gain access to the floor, not really on it.

I crept my way towards Sam’s room, swallowing down any trepidation as I knocked softly on the door, hearing Sam up like a shot from his bed, muffled as it was. Swiping the card key gained me access and I opened the door slowly, only to be yanked inside and the door hastily shut behind me, barely able to mouth, “Sammy—” before his mouth covered my own.

Which I wasn’t objecting to.

He was passionate, but careful. Searching me for discomfort, letting ample windows of opportunity to decline his advances if I wanted. But, I genuinely think I was as starved as him for this. Pinned against a wall, we kissed so passionately I felt like I was going to melt in his arms and stain him. As if we didn’t feel whole enough.

I knew we didn’t like having to sneak, treating each other like a secret. Though, we couldn’t yet risk discovery, either. Not in such a decisive time. Not when his parents were out there, somewhere. Or his identity possibly at risk of exposure. And at the nascence of my own career alongside him, that was something else we weren’t ready to let hang.

Let them speculate through lingering looks and accidental hand touches, maybe the odd flirtation. Keep them guessing and distracted.

Let them be totally oblivious to the way our bodies entwined and all we could invoke was each other’s names in the height of a frenzied, blind passion.


	8. Chapter 8

Warning(s): M, mentions of injections

* * *

I was always something of a slow riser. It hadn’t really been a problem before, seeing as I’d been working from home for years and working graveyard shifts at Walmart. Two things not exactly mutually exclusive of each other that let me go and stay asleep for just about as long as I wanted. Well, sans mornings when Aunty and I worked out, or she just wanted to spend some time together. But, family had the privilege of circumnavigating timetables I made. It was nice, seeing I wasn’t exactly bosom buddies even with the people at my work.

The crinkling of plastic was what woke me up, awakening to Sam’s silhouette seated on a chair. I watched as he dabbed the skin of his upper thigh, beneath the hemline of his boxers, with an alcohol swab and switch out a dosage of testosterone into the syringe. It was quick, and Sammy didn’t even flinch as he easily injected himself. More plastic crinkling and an excellent pitch into a small wastebasket nearby.

“Woo, ten points for the LA…whatever their basketball’s team is, wooo!” I cheered sleepily, smiling goofily at Sam. What can I say? He was always a sight for sore eyes, and the piercing white sheen through the translucent shades made my eyes pretty damn sore.

Sammy smiled sheepishly and crawled on the bed, over me. “Morning,” he quipped back before pecking my lips, then springing back to his feet. “So, first day on tour: how do you feel, Miss Grey?”

I thought about that. Yeah, I know, I know; it should be easy to pipe back up with something automatic. I should be excited, ecstatic. But, how could I be? We were technically looking for his parents, too, on top of the tour and our budding album. Not exactly the kind of thing that gets a girl all smiles in the morning.

God, I just hope my answer didn’t disappoint him. “…Like I’m playing hooky from real life.” When he didn’t interrupt, wanting me to explain, I did. “I feel like I’m supposed to be back at Walmart, back at home, working on songs here and there, maybe the odd street gig. Nine to five, my style. I mean, technically I don’t have to do anything, right? Finding your parents is Connie’s MO while you’ve got every spot on the tour roster filled. And the album? We’ve got a tour to excuse any delays, and people…they’re here for you. People only realized I existed _recently_.”

It felt weird, voicing what I thought hadn’t been on my mind, like there were bigger fish to fry. Wobbling somewhere between feeling like I was neglecting my sense of self in the grand scheme of things and being way too self-centered. The consequence of living in your own world for too long, I guess. I sighed and rolled over in bed, feeling like an uninvited guest, even here.

I was living the dream, wasn’t I? Freeloading with the hottest pop star in the past decade or more, living the ultimate roadie dream, and doing it on their dime. Technically, I didn’t really have to do much but compose songs someone else would be producing. Hardly any legwork really fell on me.

I almost flinched when I felt Sam’s hand rub on my back, and even if I couldn’t see his face, the sentiment was clear. “Danny, do you feel unwelcome? Like you’re a burden, at all?”

Admittedly, I flinched at that. But, we could be honest with each other. Rolling back on my side, staring blankly out the window, I admitted, “…Yeah.” It sucked to say, but what had I done, really? Aside from yank Sammy into petty drama and step on his toes, figuratively and literally?

Sammy knelt by the bed, crowding my vision with a sweet expression that made my heart ache. The sort of face that made you feel guilty for making someone concerned for you, but I couldn’t be annoyed by it. Just twisted like a pretzel by guilt.

“Danny, I don’t think you realize how much you’ve changed my life for the better. I don’t mean to sound like some fucking incel, but you’re the first woman I’ve let into my life. The first woman I’ve ever loved, who’s seen my scars and knows my past. Who looks past my celebrity and sees me for me. Corny, I know, but I don’t think you realize what good you’ve done for me,” Sam murmured as he stroked the side of my cheek with a finger, canting his head so we’d match eyes.

All I could do was embrace him because I was too much of a coward to say I believed him. We had a clock working against us, the whole honeymoon period that would be over. And since the tour would carry into the autumn, maybe longer, that time would likely be up by then. But, how could I say that and break his heart cruelly? He was being honest while I was too much of a coward to think any of that powerful sentiment could apply to me.

I didn’t feel like it was possible to be that big in someone’s world. Especially when that person was practically a supernova before or after I’d stepped into the picture.

“Oh…shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t knock, I thought—”

We startled from the embrace but sagged in relief when it was just Connie. She looked refreshed and refined as polished onyx despite it being so early, while I felt like a bump on a log. Sam coughed in embarrassment, but I’d be lying if I wasn’t the least bit grateful for the interruption. I didn’t want him pressing and finding out how deep these waters ran. These brackish, rusty waters no one would stomach.

“Oh, hey Connie.” Thank fuck it was her and not someone completely oblivious to our relationship. I smiled sheepishly, but at least I wore more than just my underwear. I had a tank top on, too! “…Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Connie reassured before returning to her cousin. “Sammy, Gustav wants to meet you. At the hot springs. You sure you want to…?”

“Gustav?” I chirped in the window between them.

“He’s basically the Phantom of the Opera, but he’s the one coordinating the stage production for the concerts. He’s an old friend,” Sammy explained quickly, but that still didn’t put me entirely at ease. “…He knows about me, Connie. Going to some hot springs should be fine because he knows how I feel about being even the slightest bit nude around strangers.” Okay, now I was at ease.

“And he doesn’t know about you two, so it should be fine. Anyway, he wants to see you two for the day in Caldes de Malavella, in Catalan territory. Danny?” I perked up when she mentioned my name. “Tomorrow, Sammy will be too busy to really be around, so you’ll be with me.” By the conspiratorial glint in her eye I felt my heart flutter with excitement with a smile to seal the deal. Finally, a girl’s day out!

Sammy chuffed and playfully ribbed Connie. “I need to make myself decent, and so does Danny. Give us a minute, alright, Connie?” he said with a crooked smile, Connie rolling her eyes as she sauntered out the door.

Probably for the better. I was feeling like the emperor’s new clothes, and all.

* * *

It was maybe an hour later that we were finally ready, and two total before we made it to Catalonia. I don’t think I’d felt more at peace than when we were there, cruising through the countryside in black, armored SUV’s that felt more like I was in one of those arcade virtual reality rides. The Spanish countryside was beautiful, recalling something like Greece but no less green and typical of lands exceedingly close to the Mediterranean. Far as I knew, at least. The Greece I’d known in my girlhood was probably embellished a bit.

Growing up does that to your memory. Of course I’d want to make the best parts of it prettier, intentionally or not.

Caldes de Malavella was every bit as beautiful as you’d think it’d be. Terraced into high, sloping and green hills, it cascaded into the very sea by a naturally fortified harbor while adobe brick and terracotta roof homes dominated the hillside. The spires of old Spanish Catholic churches stood pronounced while some medieval ruins of a fortress crowned the high hillside. The Mediterranean sparkled azure and invitingly, making me tempted to swim were our destination not already preordained.

The streets were of cobbled red brick and cozily intimate, flower boxes and wrought iron balconies above our heads like a canopy. European cities and towns were unlike those in America, and it made me feel more at home than anything. Salty sea brine greeted us once we disembarked from the SUV in an underground parking garage, and I was sad to see the blue and verdant world left behind us.

Being a celebrity sometimes seriously sucked balls, I’ll tell you what.

But, the bath house made up for it—a lot.

Built in a classic Roman style, smaller and private rooms branched from the main lobby in narrow corridors while occasionally interrupted by larger, slightly communal ones. But at its epicenter was an enormous communal bath housing several large Calderia, or circular baths, with motes of steam suspended in the air while warmer mist hung on the water’s surface like a shroud, like someone who’d been taking a hot shower for far too long.

This, we were told, would be the one we were given private admittance to as reserved by Gustav.

Again, there was that creeping sense of mortification that crept up me like steam and stayed there even as I changed into my one-piece with the water-proof shorts. Of being treated too lavishly with nothing to really show for it on my end.

When I emerged minutes later, Sammy was already in the water in his swim trunks and I was mesmerized by the sense of security on him. From seeing bouts of dysphoria, I knew it meant a lot for him to feel so secure, so I used that as the yardstick to my own sense of security and my anxiety sagged a little.

“Hey, Gus, long time no see,” I saw Sammy greet the man of the hour with a familiar smile.

Like something out of a shampoo commercial, from behind an ornate fountain at the main bath’s center—where we were—did a man flamboyantly emerge from the water and flip his shoulder-length black locks over his head. Water dripped from his neatly short black beard and thick mustache, wide brown eyes ringed in kohl fall upon his old friend. The Indian man opened his arms and grinned widely at Sammy, both men embracing tightly.

Gustav clapped his hand on Sammy’s back, laughing gregariously. “Sam, how long as it been now since you so much as fucking called me?” he proclaimed boisterously, the energy shining in his deep brown eyes. “Ha, so, where’s your new friend, hm?” His Aussie accent had me distractedly reminded of the Crocodile Hunter.

“She’s over here. It’s alright, Danny. He’s a friend, like I said,” Sam said invitingly with Gustav’s arm still looped over his shoulders, smiling warmly. Hey, if Sammy trusted the guy, why couldn’t I?

I waded towards them in the navel-deep water, Gustav’s eyes doing a once-over but not lingering on any point of my person except for my eyes. He inclined his head and bowed a little, his hand brought sincerely up to his burnished, coppery chest. Thank God he wore swim trunks, too. “Danny, it’s an honor to finally meet you. I know we’ve never really spoken before, but I’d like to think we’re already friends, in a way. Anyone who’s gotten to know Sammy this close makes me think highly of you already.” His smile was toothless, but sincere.

“Yeah, uh—hey. Gus, right?” I said back rather belatedly, still processing what was going on.

He cracked an amused grin. “Well, technically it’s Virji Patel, but that’s secret.” He disconnected from Sammy and gestured at us both to follow him through the swampy, mineralized green water. We were brought to an offshoot of the main pool to a much smaller circular pool with seating like a hot tub roomy enough for four. Once we all settled together, he resumed, “If you don’t mind my asking, why so secret, Danny? I’ve admittedly gotten into your music recently and you certainly have the look of someone who’d command the stage. You’re a very attractive young woman, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Past the profile of his diamond-shaped face and high cheekbones, he regarded his gaze directly on me. I blushed under his scrutiny and had to avert my eyes from his that commanded attention. “…I just liked my privacy. Sure, I love making music, but going public was my aunt’s idea. Honestly, I never thought I’d make it this big. She handled all the PR as basically my agent who handles my YouTube channel. It worked out really well, the system we had. I’d make music, and she’d handle affairs with my label and the business side of things. Plus, if I’m honest, the spotlight was never really my thing.”

Though Sammy looked two seconds from taking my hand, he stopped. “San James wants to try and rectify that, hence why she’s with me on tour. Danny agreed to play some shows when the mood strikes, build her confidence on stage and all that. Nothing too front and center until she’s ready. There’s no pressing need until our album together drops, and the inevitable tour that’ll follow probably sometimesnext year.”

Gustav leaned in, stroking his beard thoughtfully, really interested. He glanced at Sam, then back at me. “Again, I apologize if this seems unsettling, but I did notice that much. You seem very nervous around me, Danny, seeing as we’ve just met—no worries, I’m not offended in the least, but I’m very good at reading people. Something I can’t really help, either. But, if it bothers you, I’ll keep my observations to myself.”

I glanced down at the water, at the wisps of steam curling at the water’s surface. “So, what else have you noticed? It’s okay, I’m actually really curious. Psychoanalyze me, doc.”

Gustav smiled once in amusement before his coppery features fell into an uncanny serenity. “You have the bearing of someone with an anxiety disorder. Your body language isn’t very open, like you’re trying to keep secrets, from being exploited. I wouldn’t say it’s crippling, but you’re very reserved. You tend to hang back when others speak until spoken to, and even then there’s still a timidity. It goes beyond being introverted, but I’d say you’re the type who gets weird in a fun way when you’re finally comfortable around people.”

I’ll admit, that had me taken aback. It was like I was an open book he’d cracked open right at the climax on the first try, who knew what was going on without even reading the previous chapters. “…Wow,” I marveled softly, that breaking his concentration with a look at Sam who smiled tensely, my own dissolving in worry.

“See? He’s right. Gus knows people. We’ve known each other for over a decade and he still reads stuff on me I wasn’t even aware of.” When their eyes met, I don’t know what it was. It went beyond just two friends, but even if I couldn’t know for certain, there was a spark between them. I don’t know if it was just Gustav’s natural intensity, or…something more. I suddenly felt like I was interrupting something much more intimate than what I should’ve been involved in. The adage of three’s a crowd never rung truer.

Gustav suddenly brightened and raised a forefinger. “You know what this calls for? Some nice, iced tea. Why don’t I get someone to make us something minty? Sam, I know you like mint, but Danny, do you?” When I nodded, he surged from the water and sopped all the way to where these mysterious refreshments were, the air in his wake very awkward between us.

I don’t know why, but even as we sat next to each other, I’d never felt farther apart.

“He seems really nice,” I said finally to break the tension, futile as it was. I think he knew what I was thinking, and the fact that he didn’t rebut it once Gustav was far from earshot caused my heart to throb. “Sammy—”

“Danny, just—hang on, please. I’m sorry, I just need a second.” If you wanted to know what glass shattering in your chest sounded like, there it was. And God above, I couldn’t take it. Why did tears prick my eyes? There was seriously no need, and yet—

“I don’t get it. You’re allowed to _like_ people, Sam. Why can’t you just be honest with me? You didn’t accuse me of anything when Carla came back, even if—yeah, I still kinda have feelings for her. Why do I get to be honest, but you don’t? Sam, _talk_ to me.”

It took him a moment and he sighed shakily, holding up a hand in placation. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, sounding so worn despite it barely being noon. “I only thought I was into women, Danny. I had a girlfriend when I was younger, back in the circus. But, Gus? I didn’t get to know him until after. …He was there. When I was still transitioning, he was one of my closest friends when he was here in the winter season with his acting troupe. I didn’t realize it at the time, probably not until now, but yeah. There’s something there. I’m not going to pretend there isn’t. Between both of us. But that doesn’t make what I feel for you any less real. You gotta believe me Danny.”

When he took one of my hands in his, I had to. I just couldn’t not. But, where did this put us? Did we just move on, pretend like there wasn’t this huge elephant in the room? I felt small compared to this, though. Gustav had been part of Sam’s life longer than I’d thought, had been a steadfast friend when I’d only just entered his life a solid two or more months ago. I felt stupid. How could we have considered marriage when I didn’t even know him all that well? I hadn’t supported him, hell—I hadn’t even been born yet! And from what was obvious, Gus was around his age, knew all this, was in the same showbusiness—it seemed so obvious to me it made me feel pale and hollow.

If there was any relationship to keep hush-hush, it should’ve been theirs. Not with some gawky and awkward woman almost half his age.

“Danny?” Sammy intoned softly, canting his head to try and catch my gaze from my sulk. Was I being petulant and childish? He hadn’t even done anything wrong, because neither of us probably anticipated this.

“Sammy, promise me something,” I found myself saying, unable to stop. “Listen, if—if Gus wants to try for a relationship with you, can we just…put this behind us? Because if you guys keep this in the closet, I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself knowing I’m keeping you from someone better. Someone who was there and gets you more than I ever could.” I felt those tears spilling over, wishing I could pin it on sweat or accumulated moisture, but the budding sob deflected that chance. “I don’t want to keep you from someone who could really love you. Someone who…”

I wish I could continue, but I couldn’t. It felt like I’d been punched in the throat by realization, that I’d been trying to scale the fucking Himalayas against odds stacked against me—against us. Did Sam even get it? When it came down to it, who would be able to better support him when he came out? Gus, someone he’d known for almost twenty years and could handle the paparazzi and spotlight, or me, the shrinking violet he’d known for only a few months who withered at the slightest bit of public scrutiny?

To me, the answer was fucking obvious.

Just as Gustav merrily greeted us upon returning with the promised beverages, I heaved myself from the water, not even looking back to their reactions as I strode as fast as I could without running back to the women’s changing room.

I had my own money, was fluent in Spanish, and could likely find some taxi service to cab me back to Barcelona.

Call me a coward, but I couldn’t be around either of them right now.

* * *

Somehow, I did what I intended on doing: getting a cab and riding back to Barcelona to the hotel where I’d holed myself away. I was lucky. Sure, I was making a name for myself, but the bulk of any fans I had were in North & South America. Unlike Sam, my name hadn’t really hit Europe yet beyond a shadowy association with him, and because of it, I wasn’t impeded at all getting back.

To do what? Nothing but cry myself to sleep and nap through almost the entire day, phone off and refusing to let anyone in. I don’t know whether I should’ve been hurt or not by Sam either giving me space or not bothering to follow up, but regardless it felt like my heart was being peeled like a fucking potato. Maybe Sam had taken what I’d said to heart and confessed to him, and they’d rode off happy into the sunset. I felt like a parasite on his back now. Without our relationship, what were we? Where did that put me?

Maybe I could get a flight to Istanbul to my mother’s extended family there. Maybe I could stay with my uncle in the Algerian embassy until I could get a flight back to LA. I felt heartbroken and hopeless.

Face still sore and flushed from sobbing so hard, I perked when a hard rapping of knuckles could be heard. My heart climbed into my throat.

“Danny, it’s me, Gus! You alright? I just want to talk.” I didn’t know whether to be relieved or devastated. Was he here to gloat? To inform me that they were together and I was no longer wanted? Turbulently negative thoughts clouded my mind as I stumbled towards the door, having passed out in what I’d left in, so at least I wouldn’t have public semi-nudity to further mortify me. Numbly, I opened the door just a crack, having barricaded it with the small chain lock that limited the scope.

“Yeah?” I croaked hoarsely, unable to meet his eyes. God…I sounded as bad as I felt. At least it fit, I guess.

“Oh, thank God. Sammy was worried sick about you. Said you two got in some kinda argument? What happened?” I know he didn’t mean to pry; he was practically bosom buddies with Sammy, feelings aside. Of course he’d ask.

I shook my head. “Sorry, I just… Not here. Sorry.” When I looked up, I was surprised to see not a gloating expression, but someone genuinely concerned. It felt like a punch to the gut to see that because it flew in the face of what I was expecting. Making villains of them both when it was totally contrary to their characters.

Gustav glanced down as he looked like he was entertaining something, and it wasn’t far. He was only a few inches taller at most, but when I slid the chain lock free and really opened the door, his compassionate look did me in. It was so gentle I could’ve broken down then and there. After what I said to Sammy, how was he not mad? I know I’d be after the colossal shit he’d been through.

“How about a hookah lounge? There’s a really good Turkish one just around the corner I could take you to. You smoke, right?” he questioned while leaning on the doorframe, nothing particularly solicitous about it. “And don’t worry, I’d get us a nice, private place. So we can talk.”

Silently did I accede with a nod because anything sounded better than cabin fever with a side of uncontrollable crying. I couldn’t see Gustav as an invented enemy. How could I when what I thought of him eliminated any hope by being so nice, so kind? And not just a smug, pitying way of doing it, either. I might not be able to read people at the level he did, but I knew when to trust people or not.

Thankfully, he wasn’t exaggerating about the hookah bar being that close. It was in the basement beneath a swankier restaurant, the alleyway between it and a backroad that gave it a discreet air. Something I could appreciate given the situation.

“So…where’s Sam?” I broached once we’d been seated in a private room, the hostess closing the door behind her. The room itself was mellow with gold rayon cushions and silky, translucent yellow drapes hung from the corners with a handsome chandelier affixed to the ceiling and warm lighting. A table dominated the center where the three-piece water pipe was present.

Gustav hummed as he set it up, puffing his pipe experimentally while handing me off my mouthpiece. “Probably back at the hotel by now. I agreed to speak with you, since he wasn’t sure if you’d be open to it. Seeing as there are probably things I could clear up between us.”

Oh jeez. Swallowing nervously, with trembling hands did I take the mouthpiece and inhale a steadying breath, dizzy from how much I breathed in. But, it did its job. I felt lucid yet floaty. “You like Sam, don’t you? And I don’t mean just as friends.” There, it was out. God, I felt so clammy and cold my teeth could rattle together.

Gustav paused from smoking, lips drawn thinly. “I won’t lie, Danny. What we have isn’t just one-sided. But, you know how life is. He’s busy, I’m busy. We didn’t really have time to settle things together.”

I shouldn’t have asked. I felt like I was slipping down the levels described in Dante’s Inferno the more he spoke, a miserable sense of despair welling in my breast. I nodded, smiling brokenly. “Yeah, yeah. I think I told him that, too.” Shivering, I was shivering—I could feel it. The type you shiver before you break down and sob messily all over again. My eyes hurt. They stung so much it hurt to keep them open. Like a raw welt that couldn’t heal.

I had no idea why Gustav did, but I yielded when I felt an arm circle my shoulders. Gustav hushed me in a low susurrus, genuinely concerned. “Danny, what you need to get is I’m not trying to take him away from you. I wouldn’t want that. And yes, he told me you two have been a thing. Hell, I would’ve noticed it myself eventually. But, he doesn’t want to jilt you regardless of what funk we have going on. Before my feelings, he’s my friend. And friends don’t do that kind of shit to each other.”

I couldn’t help myself as I broke down again, from both relief and guilt and everything mingling in between. Like it was my fault for keeping them apart, but they didn’t resent me for it when they were within their right to. Gustav most of all. I felt heavy and salty and wet, but Gustav wasn’t repulsed. If anything, he brought me a little closer.

“…And you know, I don’t think I’d have gone through it even if he was available. I’m polyamorous, Danny. Monogamy was never really my thing.”

That sentence confused me so much I stopped crying. “Wait, you’re poly? But—what about Sam—”

“What about Sam?” Gustav echoed back, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Yes, Danny, much as I love the idea of a relationship, three’s a party and two’s a crowd. Why settle when there’s nothing more beautiful than multiple people in love with each other instead of that love triangle bullshit?”

Well that threw me in for a loop. Gustav removed his arm around me seeing as I’d stopped crying, puffing on the hookah and blowing smoke rings through his lips. “I thought polyamory was having more than one lover,” I stated densely, brows furrowing together.

That caused him to outright giggle into his hand, patting my shoulder. “That’s only half the fun, Danny. The other half is everyone being in love with each other. You should try it sometime.” Ah shit. It was kinda hard to steep myself in my melodrama when he was like this. But wait, maybe the bullshit drama could be saved yet!

“So, if you and Sam get together, you’d have to find another boyfriend?” Wrong question, maybe? But, it’s not like I could rewind time or anything.

Gustav’s gaze became enigmatic and his smile was just as mysterious, reaching to delicately take me by the chin and cause me to blush hard. At this point, I don’t think my body knew whether to flush or blush, be sad or mollified. That, and his gaze was absurdly intense. Everything was giving me whiplash.

“The world would be a woefully boring place to be if you could only be gay or straight, don’t you think, love?” he murmured with a suave smile before taking his hand away and putting his hands up in placation. “Hopefully you get my drift. However, I have no intention of potentially making you uncomfortable, Danny. I like the idea of befriending and working with you just as much as I do making you and Sammy both my lovers.”

That paused me sputter. God, poor me! I was red as a fucking tomato! Also, did he seriously just say that? Fuck, I had no idea how to come back at that. …At least he was a gentleman. That much I could easily get behind. “You serious?” I sputtered, cheeks heating. Thank God it was pretty dim in here and that I wasn’t all that pale.

“Scouts’ honor,” Gustav replied puckishly, grinning. “Though, let’s work on the friend part first. No more tears? We’ll talk our issues through and get through this tour a-ok, how about that? Nothing to worry about.”

Okay…that I could get behind. “Alright…ready to head back?” I asked him with a sheepish smile.

“Ladies first.~”


	9. Chapter 9

Warning(s): T, none

* * *

At what couldn’t have been later than at least 6 AM as the screen of my smartphone lit up and almost vibrated off the nightstand. Catching it before it could, I almost half-wittingly answered it before realizing it was just a text message: _I need to talk. Be at your room in 15 minutes, Connie_. There was a strange air of foreboding about the message but remembering who it was from almost immediately assuaged them. Waking up—like, _really_ waking up—made an air of guilt settle over me.

Just as the sunrise was just barely creeping through the curtained windows, my bed felt empty. It was probably because it had been a whole week since the fiasco at the bathhouse, while technically resolved, meant Sam and I hadn’t really spoken about the rift I’d opened up. He was able to call me en route for the bazillionth time for an interview, rehearsal, photoshoot—whatever the hell it was—and he was able to forgive me. He sounded tender, even over the phone. Maybe more than I deserved to have after the stupid stunt I pulled, anxiety or no.

Gustav was busy, too, but obviously we’d patched things up. Since coming here, it felt even more solitary than my life before Lowtown. Back when I didn’t really have any friends because of the cultural differences between Brazil and America and how alienated I’d felt here. Now, all I really hung out with was with Connie and even she could only buddy up so many times before her own, confidential work tied up her strings.

And video chats only took a girl so far. Same with aimless wandering through Barcelona’s streets.

Regardless, in those fifteen minutes I was able to properly shower and freshen up a bit, changed into some jeans and a t-shirt and socks so I wouldn’t be totally indecent by the time Connie arrived.

The knock at the door startled me, but I was probably staring at it so hard I was halfway surprised it hadn’t fallen off from the intensity. Bouncing to my feet, I answered it and immediately let Connie in without thinking. She closed the door purposefully behind me, huffing softly. “Hey Danny, remember when you said you wanted to help find Sammy’s parents? What if that time came a bit earlier?” she asked once it was closed, feeling like she already knew the answer.

“I mean, yeah. You know I’m definitely on board with this,” I replied without a moment’s need for thought. As if I really needed to mull that answer over. “Why?”

Connie helped herself to a seat at the small table stationed near the kitchenette. “I might need you this afternoon. Now—don’t get mad or anything, but your royal background is actually the key with what I need done.”

I blinked. Mad? Why would I get mad? “What thing?”

“I’d sit down for this, Danny. It’s going to sound crazy, trust me.” So, I did. Right across from her so we wouldn’t have to shout across the expansive room. Bridging her hands together, she continued: “You probably have heard about them before. The Illuminati. Yeah, I know. ‘ _A world-controlling organization is real? No way!_ ’ you’ll probably say. Then I’ll be all, like, ‘ _Yup, that’s the one! With all the triangles and things adding up to 666 galore!_ ’ You know they do that on purpose? Make it look like they were a thing of the past or just part of pop conspiracy theories. Fictional. Fun stuff.”

“…You serious? No, shit—wait, wrong question. I just…how? Shouldn’t this whole room be wiretapped, and we’d be en route to some secret unmarked, interrogation chamber in the Soria region five minutes ago? They’re all over like that, right?” Okay, in my defense, I was trying to wrap my head around this. What reason was there to think Connie was lying? She’d fallen off the map for almost as long as Sam had!

Connie smiled one of her dazzling, amused smiles before chuckling. “Don’t get me wrong: they’re good, but not that good. And my people? We’re so, so much better. Not to brag, or anything, but it is true. We have them on watch and they don’t even know it.”

This caused my features to appear a bit pinched in bemusement. “Alright, so, where do I fall in for this? I mean, if your people are so out there, shouldn’t they just round all the perps up and be done with it? Unless there’s some ancient alien overlord that the Illuminati has your boys don’t.” Boys? Which boys? Could I even ask? God, was it dumb to be excited? Weren’t these kinds of things life-and-limb?

“Backtrack five seconds ago, kid. To the whole bit with your royal pedigree. Lucky us, they’re meeting on the Spanish Riviera tonight. You know, Costa del Sol? It’s going to be big, swanky, and you’re our ticket in. You’re going as the cousin of the Algerian prince—which, you technically kind of already are—who wants in with the Illuminati on behalf on him while I’m going as a _noveau riche_ Sudanese, newly minted billionaire. Tech firm, I think. The MiB’s got us all sorted out, technically. Called in this morning and now we’re on their roster. All we need is a little makeover.”

The MiB? Remind me to ask later what they really were. Like those alien-hunter movies that starred the Fresh Prince? Coming for more than just batty witnesses of alien abductions, I guess.

“A little makeover?” I repeated, my voice lilting uncertainly. “You mean…going incognito, right?” Maybe it didn’t really show, but if that was the case, my excitement was growing. Yes, this potentially could be the riskiest thing anyone had ever gotten me into, but the prospect of acting like some femme fatale made my heart flutter in anticipation. Not to mention, it was for a good cause. My parents were gone and at rest. If I could potentially get the love of my life’s parents back, this was the tiniest tip of the iceberg of things I was willing to go through for him.

 _The love of my life._ All I needed now was to grow a pair and tell Sammy that.

“You look like a blank canvas already. I have someone set up who’s going to take care of us and some of the finer details. We just have to get going,” Connie said distractedly as she double-checked her phone. “In fact, they’re expecting us right now.”

We wasted no more time as I slipped on a pair of sandals and left everything else behind, Connie assuring me that I had no need for it; the fake ID’s and everything else would be provided piecemeal. Made me think of some cyberpunk android assembly video where parts were welded together in a flashy white space before booting up as a new, sentient life.

The salon we were brought to via one of the anonymous, tinted black sedans wasn’t one I recognized and it was probably intentionally set up that way. Everyone there wore black baseball caps, surgeon masks, sunglasses, and black polos and trousers and loafers. It was the weirdest thing I’d ever witnessed, but it was hard to care as we were pampered our way through our appearances being altered. From what I could tell, the makeup was heavy and I was pretty certain I was getting a long-haired wig after the makeup was caked on. Kind of uncomfortable, but I was pretty sure it would go a long way in completely disguising my person. That, and in the perspective of what it was for, of course it’d be worth it. If I had to dress up as a rodeo clown and chase down a bucking bronco, I’d do it.

After they seemed done with styling the wig in an up-do and doing it to death with product, I was told to head towards a dressing room and change into whatever fancy lingerie and slinky sheath was there. The accessories would be added afterword, I assumed. So, into the undergarments and dress I went. When I was finished, more makeup and airbrushing for whatever else was exposed. It felt like I was wearing a second skin under all this. Last went the stiletto heels and necklace and a few bracelets, and I still didn’t know how the hell I’d look.

Not like me, that was for sure.

When it was announced I was done, the rooms Connie and I had been parted in for them to work on us individually saw us reunited in a foyer, the entire interior undergoing restoration once the blinkers were off. There, I honestly had to gape at Connie, to be honest. She stunned in a fairy tale, off-shoulder gold silk dress abuzz with encrusted gem work at the bodice, given extensions in the form of myriad box braids twined with strands of yellow diamond and pulled into a ropey bun that sat atop her like a crown. Hell, even her complexion had a golden sheen that hadn’t been there before, lips hued a fair gold that sparkled.

I think I knew who the draw between us would be.

There a single full-length mirror, I started at the complete stranger staring back. While Connie looked ready for the MET gala, I was in a far simpler but sparkly black, knee-length sheath with black stilettos and diamond necklace and bracelets. My hair was fairly long and black while a bronzer the color of my natural complexion made me look like I was embalmed in a glossy veneer. Seriously airbrushed to perfection. I’m pretty sure tons of Instagram models would envy how I looked, but—it wasn’t me. Danny Gray was back at the hotel room and—

I looked like my mother had come back from the dead.

I wasn’t kidding. If I hadn’t chopped and dyed my hair to hell, I’d have looked exactly like her while she was alive. Enough that even Aunty had to double take before I’d decided to change my look after moving to the US. I think that was one of the motivations as to why I did it.

“You look stunning, Connie. Seriously,” I said after detaching myself from that line of thought, distracting myself with her instead.

“I feel like Cinderella. I almost wish this night wouldn’t end. Lucky us we’ll have another chance. That is, if you don’t mind doing this sort of thing.”

A mission with training wheels? Alright, I could live with that.

Already could I hear the sound of this anonymous crew packing the makeshift salon up behind the translucent tarp, fascinated for a moment before we were corralled out the back and back the way we’d came. Except, we were headed for the airport as Costa del Sol wasn’t exactly a hop, skip, and a jump away. Far as I knew, we had a special flight chartered that would fly us there in little less than two hours.

Though I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of being on a plane in this getup for two hours, there was still the time after and we weren’t exactly going there with luggage to change back. Hell, how did we know this wouldn’t end in some kind of shootout or something? My experience was limited to exaggerated portrayals by Hollywood, after all.

I trusted Connie. If she thought I could handle this, I was right to believe her faith in me.

Yeah, yeah. Insert self-doubting tangent here. We’ve heard it all before.

* * *

An hour into our flight, and I think I had the story down. I was going to the gala as Farrah Ahmad Zafar Osman, daughter of my uncle, Ahmad (which apparently, he was aware of this whole shindig and approved) and was representing the Algerian crown. Lucky me, having spent summers in Algiers meant that I remembered how we were supposed to act, and though I wasn’t a true native born Algerian, living with Aunt Safiya meant I would know the mores and little things others might gauge me for while posing as a modern Algerian woman. Who happened to be from Brazil, and all.

It was strange. Remembering my baby pictures before I’d decided to literally make myself over, if I’d let my hair go and was more enthusiastic about makeup, I’d probably look exactly as I did now. It was funny to think about, but not what really mattered. My family supported me in what I decided to do, so it’s not like I felt particularly wistful.

Save for the part that how much I looked like my mom was a bit of a blow to the kisser.

The pilot announced we were landing, and I felt my stomach lurch in time with the plane beginning its descent, the fluffy suspension of clouds seeming disjointed and cheerful. At least the sunset looked beautiful to behold, my stomach in knots.

“Are you ready, Farrah?” Connie said as she looked at me with a meaningful look in her fathomless, near-black eyes, the airs she put on completely exquisite. Granted, we were both acting from here on out.

For someone who had lived an introverted life, I still had an awareness of my body, of who I was portraying. Farrah was an extremely wealthy Brazilian citizen, all curves and voluptuous smiles and smoky, mysterious gazes. Even though I’d felt ridiculous practicing those airs, I let myself loose in them. Pretending to be the woman I’d once thought I’d grew into. Even though I’d heavily disappointed the little Danielle who dreamed of maturing into a real, sophisticated princess, this felt like a little conciliation prize.

That, and imagining Sammy’s reaction if he could see did thrill me a little. Not that I was in a gloating mood, much less being a little indisposed.

The gangway lowered and we pulled on heinously expensive fur coats, I internally mourning whatever poor little creatures gave their lives for the transient sake of fashion. Donning Ray-Bans and walking in tow of a pair of muscles, anonymously suited bodyguards, I almost flushed from how embarrassed and out of my own league I felt.

But, Farrah? No, Farrah exaggerated the sway of her hips as her heels clomped down the metal stair, knowing eyes were on her and relishing in it. To the waiting chauffeur and staff come to greet us personally, she was the mysterious, sexy shadow to Esperanza’s (Connie’s) bird of paradise. Even while on dry land, my walk was more of an overwrought catwalk that exaggerated the level of sultriness this character had. Farrah basked in the attention, receiving stares both jealous and desiring somewhere between aloofness and daring them to ask for more.

God, my own internal monologue was making me cringe. Femme fatale, we get it!

Connie and I ducked inside the limousine where it was just us and our bodyguards. Inside, the interior was ringed by panels of soft, neon lighting that cast a dozy, twilit grow in the cabin. A mini bar was prepped with fluted champagne glasses and a champagne brand I recognized as easily being in the thousands of dollars. Though the sparkling, rose-gold liquid tempted me, it was hard not to feel a little guilty.

Alright, not entirely. Alcohol was the road to feeling a lot less jittery, sometimes.

“I’m _so_ looking forward to seeing Sabastian again. Farrah, please tell me you and Philippe intend on hosting that one little… What was it, a charity ball? I couldn’t stand the one from last year! So boring you’d think it was some—oh, I don’t know, an American NASCAR rally? So crude!” Connie made a face and I stifled the urge to laugh, but had to admit her British accent was impeccable.

“Espie, please. If we do that every year, the media might think we’re not really doing it for the charity. It was bad enough when the Morgans said as much to CLT, that was embarrassing,” I replied with a polite laugh of my own. Thankfully, considering the fact that I technically was Brazilian, the accent came easily. Almost homey. Well, that and I’d had a pretty heavy Brazilian accent just five years ago when I’d been fresh off the boat, even if I was far from the only Hispanic person in the room.

“Better exposed charity balls than quasi-NASCAR rallies, hm?” Connie hummed into her flute of champagne and even I couldn’t resist drinking some.

Still, I was nervous. Just how hard could I bullshit this, anyways? Sure, I had some memories of my childhood between Algeria and Greece, but I was 90% sure it wouldn’t be enough. Not even close. For the past fifteen, I’d lived as an ordinary kid. Yet here I was, bullshitting my way through something important and I prayed to God I wouldn’t fuck this up.

When bright, interrupting lights managed to bleed through the heavily tinted windows did I heed the call of my inner child to crane close enough to practically smudge an imprint of my face into the window. The place we were going was huge! Man, you’d think you saw it all up in Beverly Hills, but this was nothing compared to that. The stately facade of a bonafide castle manifested like an island through a darkened sea, practically no time at all between when we’d disembarked to now.

“Do you like it, dear? Not everyone is a barbarian deprived of a private air strip, unlike a certain few people we might know of,” Connie partly explained through a feigned and snide remark to this something-or-other peasant or whatever. I’m going to pretend he’s some corrupt politician from Alabama.

“Hm? Oh, I was wondering where these lights were coming from. For the briefest instant I feared we’d wandered into some low-budget Hollywood set.” Points for trying. Oh, the sweet temptation for a night of self-loathing. Farrah could go to town on Danny. Every aspiring actress’ dream—to indirectly drag youself and your shortcomings, especially if they grew up in the emo MySpace poetry era. Clip-art included.

After some dozen cars unloaded their burdens at the door, I sucked in a breath and was glad that the champagne got me a bit buzzy, at least. Buzzy? No, pretty sure the word was buzzed. Thing was, could I keep my cool? Remember who I was pretending to be? I mean, it’s not like I was a Bond girl or anything. Maybe a C-list actress at best, but not some espionage agent. That was Connie’s gig, and I was just along for the ride. To be some kind of distraction, I think. To flit around like the hobnobber I wasn’t and act like I wasn’t only familiar with the modern day influencer scene.

We were next as a swankily-dressed usher in a stereotypical tailcoat tuxedo opened the rear door and Connie was the first to disembark, half expecting to be assaulted by flashing bulbs the moment she stepped out she looked so glamorous. When I gingerly followed suit, it was to my surprise that there weren’t any paparazzi, which was unusual given how many influential people were there. Maybe this was the reality of the Illuminati.

Honestly, would they even call themselves that? Hiding in plain sight, kinda deal?

Connie linked our arms together and smiled like the sunshine queen she was, even her waving conducted with a princess-y sort of decorum. I tried to emulate her, but was pretty sure I had the waving equivalent of two left feet. Thankfully it wasn’t even for a few seconds before we continued to the entrance and into the castle proper.

It were as if the entire foyer and ballroom inside had been touched by Midas himself, caulked with enough gold to make the Federal Reserve green as a greenback with envy. Ornate candelabras suspended at intervals twinkled like stars and bathed the ballroom in a creamy glow. Galleries were ensconced in the walls where several parties of people milled and talked among themselves, the greatest throngs of people those I didn’t recognize but were nevertheless the most powerful men and women in the world. The din of their conversations belied who and what this was for, I half-expecting them to begin some Viennese waltz in the next minute or two. Half fairy tale and half pinch me, I must be dreaming!

“Farrah, this way,” Connie indicated with a saccharine smile and her playful airs, all before Esperanza drifted away and we were well from the earshot of others. This is where Connie returned to the surface, however briefly. “Nervous? Can’t say I’m not a bit myself, but remember: you’re not here to do the heavy-lifting. You got us in, and all you need to do is act like some airhead socialite like we practiced. Most of these people won’t expect you to act like you know anything, so just stay cute and ignorant and you’ll be fine. Will you be alright while I do what needs to be done?”

“I mean, it’s never too late to add ‘actress’ to my Wikipedia page in what I specialize in, right?” I cracked a weak joke with an uncertain smile. Connie regarded me with genuine concern. “I’ll be alright, promise. This might not be how I imagined being a Bond girl would be like, but I’ve been around high-life types before. You do your thing, ‘kay?” Hell, I even managed to slip into my old Brazilian accent for all that. Not bad, huh?

Connie smiled thinly at me. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could do this. Just...be careful, alright? Stay safe and play nice with all of the other kids.” That I could do. I walked on eggshells on a good day. Finally, my tendency to over-analyze and internalize everything finally might come in handy!

Giving me one last dazzling smile, I forced laughter as if she’d just told the funniest joke before watching her disappear into the crowd. So, here came my trial by fire. Feigning the sexiest smolder I could muster, I sauntered through the crowd like a cougar, getting wayward looks from the men and quirked brows from the women and not much else.

Which...honestly had me drawing a bit of a blank. Here I was, not knowing who the hell anyone else was, left to my own devices, surrounded by people likely interested in two things: gossip that could translate somehow into good intel, and networking. Which left me at a cliffhanger for the sheer reality of the fact that my feigned persona saw me as a ditzy foreign princess uninterested in much but the materialistic aspects of wealth, and maybe modeling. It made sense to me. That didn’t exactly make me a target for gossipers or a curio to be investigated.

Walking absently did my decided objective become merely to flag down one of the elusive waiters flitting about with trays of sparkling champagne, trying to settle on that instead of letting my anxiety kick in and lead me to some dark closet to spend the rest of the night huddled in a corner on a phone that wasn’t technically even mine.

“You know, you being on the list threw me in for a bit of a loop. I didn’t think Algeria even had a royal family. Not since the French came along in 1830.”

While that might have thrown me off guard another time, the fact that whoever spoke to me was speaking fluent Arabic piqued my curiosity more than anything. Turning, before me was a man who appeared to be my age. Tall, tan, the type that would be featured in some mall store to try and allure horny girls. He wore a short beard and a suit that I pegged as Armani—since that’s what all the wealthy johns wore, right?

“I’m sorry, and you are…?” I asked with a coy smile and quirked brow, in my best Brazilian-accented Arabic as I could manage. God, if I could do a slow-mo recap of how I was acting tonight, I think I’d cringe so hard that my soul would leave my body.

“Comte Simon Desselle de Provence, from France. Back in the day my family used to own land in Algeria, before its independence and all,” Simon replied suavely, this time in English. Guess we were playing language roulette or something, and I was just glad I could keep up. “But that was a long time ago. Nowadays, my family just owns stock in myriad companies and an investment firm, same as everyone else. Ah, but forgive my rudeness! I neglected to ask your name.”

I didn’t know whether this guy could be trusted with a conversation. Hell, I was pretty sure that beneath his sparkly exterior was a frat boy waiting to take flight. “Farrah Ahmad Zafar Osman, House Osman of Algeria. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, _habibi_.” Oh, make no mistake. I wasn’t calling him ‘ _dear_ ’ in any fond or affectionate measure of the imagination. He smiled back, stifling a grin.

With that, the vampire had his permission to step over the threshold. Though, I was ready to Van Helsing his ass if he tried anything funny. Hovering a hand at my waist, Simon shepherded me through a particularly thick throng of people and towards the ballroom floor where a cabaret of tables and a raised stage played host to a rather nice orchestra. I followed as docilely as he wanted to believe I was. “You know, I’ll be honest, Highness, but when I saw you in our midst I wondered why I hadn’t seen you before. Your uncle I’ve heard of, but I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

Okay, not bad so far. “Well, it is my first time. This isn’t the medieval ages. I went to university and had a job, and my uncle was kind enough to keep the paparazzi off my tail growing up. I’m pretty new to the social scene, if I’m pretty honest. Growing up in Brazil kept me away from Algeria while my father traveled for diplomatic reasons.” That sounded pretty solid, even if Farrah’s flirtatious demeanor wasn’t totally holding weight. Then again, no one said she had to be. She was just sultry when she wanted to draw a crowd’s eye, is all. Who said so? I did.

“Ah, Brazil. I’ve been there many times on vacation. Then again, maybe it’s not so unusual. That you were never in the spotlight, I mean. More people in the upper crust are electing to leave that to those influencers, I believe the term is? In America, at least.” Guiding me towards a surprisingly empty table, he pulled out a seat for me and helped me scoot in once I’d sat down before taking a seat besides me. He was being pretty gentlemanly so far, I have to admit.

“That’s pretty much what I’ve been doing. It’s nice not having to live your life in the spotlight,” I admitted with a grain of truth. My gaze drifted to the orchestra and the conductor waving his baton before returning to Simon. “What about you? Do you keep to yourself?”

That caused him to break out in a Cheshire grin. “Me? No, far from it. I’ve got 17 million followers on Instagram and it grows by the day. I’m popular—in France, at least.” We were momentarily interrupted by waiters bringing us both flutes of champagne, before they’d left as quickly as they’d come, leaving us with fizzy flutes of the stuff. “But, I digress. If you don’t mind my asking, I have to say, I am sorry for what happened to your Aunt and Uncle, I believe they were? Such a shame.”

That caused me to freeze. Back the hell up! Was he seriously talking about my parents? God, curiosity was a cat literally sprinting here, chasing the laser point. Idly sipping some of my champagne, I offhandedly asked, “Thank you, even if it was so long ago. Still...I’m not sure if you’re one for gossip, and my uncle certainly never told me anything, but what happened to them exactly? All I was ever told it was some unfortunate car accident.”

Simon suddenly appeared conspiratorial, glancing furtively over his shoulder before focusing again on me. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I’m even allowed to say this, but… It was the husband, I think. He was a franchise owner in Greece and starting to make real headway in his business. Enough to gain the attention of the higher-ups. Enough to appear at functions this ritzy. Thing is, he discovered something bad. I don’t remember the exact details, but I think it was some western chain trying to run him out of business and really stack bad shit on him since he was getting their way or whatever. Well, he was making noises about threatening legal action instead of keeping his head down, and he...got taken care of. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

It felt like I’d gotten punched in the gut. Like that whole can of worms I’d thought had some closure had been wrenched open. I think someone taking an urn of his and my mom’s ashes and dumping them out and stomping on them would’ve hurt less. Maybe it was lucky I was a family transplant in this scenario. Therefore, my sudden silence felt warranted, and Simon seemed to respect it. Family was still family, after all.

“That’s what happened to Aunt Maryam?” I asked aloud with a broken laugh, feeling tears prick in my eyes. “And Uncle Constantine. It’s been fifteen years already— They used to visit us in Algeria, you know? We had fun spending our summers together as a family. And this is what happened to them? They were good people, Simon, you have to believe me. They were among the kindest people I’d ever known.” Switch some of the titles around and the emotion was still honest. Simon offered me a handkerchief and I delicately dabbed the corners of my eyes, hoping none of the make-up smudged. Sniffing, I exhaled heavily. “Sorry. Usually I’m more composed than this.”

“It’s alright. You should’ve seen me when my grand-mère died several years ago. I was pretty inconsolable myself,” he ventured with a wry smile, then glancing at the dance floor. “You know, I think the old birds have finally cleared the dance floor. How about we go for a spin? In their memory.”

I nodded, even if any smile couldn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’d like that, thank you.”

* * *

We wouldn’t arrive back at the hotel until at least 3 AM, and had passed out on the plane after having our disguises stripped off and washed away. So we wouldn’t be returning home caulked in make-up and sore feet and dresses that felt itchy and constrictive after so long. All aboard the plane, no less. It was a tedious thing, but even we arrived back in Barcelona, neither of us could sleep despite probably being exhausted.

It was at a cozy little rooftop bar atop another hotel that Connie had taken the liberty of reserving a whole section for ourselves, sitting in quiet companionship on a cushy leather sofa with nothing but the din of early morning traffic and surrounded by the skyline of Barcelona still ablaze in a horizon of fiery gold. We lounged with drinks in hand, not really talking so much as enjoying the view. The entire flight had been halved by us needing to disrobe and all that, anyways. I felt like myself again, especially without the pounds of make-up and wig.

“So, do we just keep staring off into space, or is someone going to take one for the team and spill the beans?” Connie said at last as she lazily lolled her head towards me, appearing sleepy but receptive. “Culture shock, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I huffed before taking a sip of my margarita. I was really tempted to lick off all the shards of sugar (or whatever they called that stuff they frosted the glass with) like an anteater. “I mean, I thought this was all just the brainchild of some wackadoo conspiracy theorist. But, I shit you not, I literally overheard people talking about munching up smaller corporations like freaking potato chips, or which people they’d use as figureheads. Figureheads! Apparently the people we see at the helm of companies are just smoke and mirrors. No wonder I didn’t recognize anybody. Man, and that’s not even half of it.”

Connie flopped back on the couch with a sigh of her own, still looking refined even lazing around. “That’s not even half of it. This shit runs so deep, Danny, it’s not even funny. It’s really not an exaggeration when they say the Illuminati controls everything. On a good day you’ll hear about how a country’s education system is going to rewrite history in their curriculum, or how a corporate john and a prime minister will cozy up and scheme on who they’ll implicate in a conspiracy you’ll hear about in a week. It’s crazy.” There was a brief pause as she swirled her wine in its glass, surreptitiously asking, “What about you? Did you learn anything?”

Oof, that stung a little. Taking a good gulp down of my drink, I shivered a little. Good ol’ liquid courage. “My parent’s death wasn’t an accident. This guy named...uh, Simon de...no, Simon Desselle de Provence. Guy’s a comte, and he told me there was some scheme to take them out. All because my dad caught wind of some shitty Ponzi scheme to knock him down a few pegs.” Even buzzed it pissed me off to think about.

Constanza straightened when she heard that. “Christ, Danny. I’d heard down the grapevine that it was bad, but not like that. I’m just sorry you had to hear that secondhand.” Right now, the idea of getting drunk was getting prettier by the second. Hence why I knocked back the margarita wholesale, even if the burn made me choke a bit while Connie clapped my back.

“Thanks,” I said after wiping away some stray tears, coughing. “Strong stuff. But—what about you? Anything?”

“I was able to find out something new, actually. Apparently, the fire hadn’t been an accident, Danny. Actually, they weren’t the intended targets in the first place. The circus they’d worked for at the time, the person who owned it was being hounded by the feds for human trafficking and hosting these underground body markets. Really nasty stuff—mostly involving migrant women kidnapped overseas in third world countries. The fire was to throw them off, and Sammy’s parents were kidnapped to throw off the trail. Making the Baxters’ faked deaths the headline, not the trafficking that would’ve brought down their reputation.” Connie sipped some more of her wine, swirling the ruby liquid in its glass. “That’s all I know.”

A pit of dread hollowed its way into my stomach at the thought. Sex trafficking? That was the stuff of nightmares, and I wasn’t going to pretend like I could even imagine what it was like. “Are you going to tell Sammy about all this? Can I?” I couldn’t help but broach, margarita glass since set aside.

Connie looked down guiltily. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” she admitted finally, then giving a wan, conciliatory smile. “Trust me, I want to tell him as much as you probably do, but it’ll draw too much attention. He’s too popular and if he started opening his own investigations, that would open Pandora’s box. The people I’ve been chasing for years now would go underground completely, just like that,” she emphasized with a quick snap of her fingers, “and they could disappear like no one’s business. And that’s if they wouldn’t try and send hit men after him.”

The idea of these faceless people trying to kill him caused my stomach to drop, throat feeling dry at the thought of losing him like that. “Man, point taken. Still, can I ask something else, Connie? Figured you’d be the best person to.” When Connie perked towards me, I continued, “I’m not going to ask you to do this for me, but...can I tell my uncle? Maybe see if we couldn’t get justice for my parents? Maybe if it had just been an accident, it wouldn’t matter so much, but this feels like it’s personal. And I don’t think I can sleep at night knowing that their deaths were intentional. That I could’ve died for some stupid, selfish reason.”

This caused Connie to look thoughtful for a moment, but it didn’t take long to answer at all. “Let me ring up some of my higher-ups to see. Make sure there’s no conflicts of interest, and see what resources we can’t pool together to help you guys out. It’s the least I can do since you’ve been helping me when we’ve barely known each other for very long.”

I could barely stifle a smile while nudging her with my elbow. “Aw, come on, Connie! It feels like we’ve known each other for awhile now. Isn’t it, like, best friend territory to help friends on their super secret missions? Missing page in the official girl code?” I cheekily goaded while she barely resisted an amused grin herself, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t let it get to your head, princess. Now, let me finish my drink so we can get back to the hotel and pass out like we deserve.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Although I don't have much in the way of references yet, here's a [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/katlissfelt/pop-cult/) with visuals for each of the characters. Currently, only Samuel has one, but ones for the others will come shortly!


End file.
